Always One Step Ahead
by fakiagirl
Summary: The FBI has a lot of secrets. One of them is the location of Arthur Kirkland, a man who can read minds. When an agent goes missing and Agent Jones needs Arthur's help on a mission, things get complicated. USUK, some FrUK.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: _Another secret agent fic! However, this is a completely different AU than _Espionage_.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 1<em>

He was hearing voices. He couldn't see anything, he couldn't seem to move, and he was hearing voices. Well then.

"Oh my God." That was an English accent, his brain helpfully informed him.

"He doesn't look good, does he, _cherie_?"

"Don't be an ass." The first voice again. There was a sort of shuffling, as if someone was getting something out of their pocket.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? Calling the police."

"Do you really want to do that?" There was a smirk in that voice.

"What do you mean?"

"We could take him inside, _non?_"

"Are you bloody insane?" the first voice snapped. "He needs medical attention."

"And what are you going to tell the police, when they ask who you are, hmm?" There was silence. "I think that they've figured out how to track calls by now. They'll know it was your number."

There was a sort of spluttering. "You have got to be kidding."

"At least look him over. He doesn't look well."

"Alright." There was a footstep and the man's voice was suddenly much closer, as though he had just crouched down next to him. "Not as bad as it looks. Wait, is this . . . stage blood? But he has a real concussion, and his rib's broken."

"Don't ask me. Come on, I'll grab his shoulders." There was a slight pause. "You aren't afraid, are you, _mon cher?_" There was that smirk again.

There was a lot of shuffling, and then, "Oh _fuck, _he's heavy."

The last thing Alfred heard was the sound of ringing laughter.

* * *

><p><em>Alfred was in his boss's office. "I've been given an assignment for you," his boss said. "It's a double extraction. Do you know what that means?" <em>

_"Yessir." _

_"First, who you need to know." He slid a photograph across the desk. It was of a woman with long, light brown hair. "Héderváry is our inside informant. She will be the one helping you get inside, but she will only be able to give you limited aid. I will tell you how to reach her at your final briefing." Alfred nodded; he'd heard of her before. His boss slid another photograph towards Alfred, this one of a man with auburn hair. "This is who you will be ultimately extracting. He's one of ours. I cannot tell you much more about him, but he has a twin brother." _

_"Oh. That makes things a little more complicated." Alfred grinned. _

_"Yes, it does. Our agent has been missing for two weeks, and we cannot locate either him or his brother. When you make the exchange, you need to be sure you have our agent. If you get his brother–" _

_"The mission's compromised," Alfred said. "I get it, sir." _

_His boss gave him a dark look. "The whole division is compromised. His brother is a dangerous man. This is where the other extraction comes in." This time, he slid a piece of paper across the desk. There was no photograph. "Before you do anything else, you need to find this man." _

_Alfred picked up the piece of paper. He could see now that it was a bio. He skimmed it: Hair, blond. Height, 175 cm or approximately 5'8". He skipped down to the "special information" section and frowned. "'Ability to extract information from subjects directly'? What the hell does that mean?" _

_"Agent Jones," his boss said quietly as he leaned across the desk, "Your clearance level thus far has been what we consider standard for field agents. You have just been upgraded. This man is the only way we will able to know for certain if we have the right man." _

_Alfred looked back at the paper. 'HIGHEST SECURITY LEVEL', the document said."How am I supposed to find him, then?" _

_"We know where he currently lives." He passed across a slip of paper. "Memorize the address. This will be a solo mission. You will need his help, but do not allow him into your confidences." Alfred nodded and turned to leave. "Oh, and Agent Jones," his boss called after him. Alfred paused, his hand on the door handle. "To make this as unnoticeable as possible, we're going to need to make it look like you got mugged."_

* * *

><p>Alfred woke up in a bed that wasn't his. He could tell because the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was a ceiling that had been painted a sort of peach color and had a crack in it, and his ceiling didn't have either of those things. Also, it felt like he was lying on a pile of raw springs.<p>

Alfred groaned weakly and propped himself up on his elbows. He was in a small room, but the light was dim and he wasn't wearing his glasses, so he couldn't see much beyond that there was some sort of bedside table to his left. He felt a little cold, too. He glanced down. Interesting; he wasn't wearing a shirt. He did an automatic body check: his side felt strangely tender, and there was a bandage wrapped over it. He also had a pounding headache. Still, nothing life-threatening, as according to plan. He reached for the bedside table blindly and sort of patted his hand around until he found his glasses. He put them on and had to immediately take them off again because the lenses were smudged with fake blood.

While he was doing his best to clean his glasses on the edge of the sheet, there were footsteps at the door and someone came in. "Oh, you're awake," said the British voice from before. He was a blond blob on top of a sort of grey-brown blob, and Alfred watched as he closed the door behind him. He put on his glasses and the blobs clarified into a short man with messy blond hair and a slight frown. He was wearing a suit that looked a couple decades out of fashion. As he came closer, Alfred saw that he also had very green eyes and very large eyebrows. He looked concerned. "I hope you're feeling alright," the man said. "We brought you inside. I hope you don't mind. It was awfully cold out there and you didn't seem to be too badly injured, so we thought we'd spare you the horrible hospital bills you seem to have here." He smiled in a way that looked forced and he began to fiddle with a spare thread in the cuff of his suit jacket. Though Alfred was not familiar with the mannerism yet, he guessed that it was a sign that the man was lying. He was right.

"What was all that about the police, then?" Alfred asked. He pulled himself up into a sitting position with a wince.

The man went a little pale. "Sorry?"

"I heard some people talking when I was . . ." Alfred waved his hand. "I assume one of them was you." He grinned weakly. "Unless I have English guys just falling all over me lately. Lemme guess, you're in trouble with the law, yeah? What for?"

The man blinked a little too swiftly. His mouth opened and closed. His eyes narrowed a little. "You seem to have had a rather nasty concussion. I'm sure you were hearing things."

Alfred glared at him weakly. "If you threaten me, I'll have the Feds on you in a heartbeat."

"I wasn't threatening you," he snapped. "I only came in here to see if you wanted some more tea, since that cup's obviously gone cold, but I guess you'll just have to deal with it, won't you?" The man stormed off to the door. Alfred looked at the bedside table and noticed belatedly that there was indeed a cup of tea there. The man paused before he closed the door behind him. "By the way, I'm not some petty criminal, so don't look at me like I am. I don't even know your name because I was too much of a _gentleman _to even go through your pockets." The door slammed shut, and the last thing Alfred saw before it did was an angry flash in a pair of green eyes.

"Wait, you don't understand," Alfred called, but he didn't reappear. He bit his lip. The thought suddenly occurred to him that maybe he hadn't been picked up by the right person. What if this was someone completely unrelated to the man he was supposed to be contacting, and just happened to be someone else who didn't want to draw attention to themselves? Alfred frowned a little. Clearly this situation called for some investigation. His eyes lighted on his familiar coat hung over the foot of the bed. He lunged forward, completely forgetting why there might be a bandage around his torso. His broken rib gave a horrible twinge and Alfred Jones fainted.

* * *

><p>When Alfred woke up again, he was on his back in bed again and there were now two other people in the room with him. One of them was the man from before and the other had slightly wavy, light blond hair that just brushed the collar of his finely-tailored suit. They were standing near the door and talking in quiet voices. Alfred frowned and sat up with a wince. Someone had taken his glasses off – again. He put them back on and glared properly at the two men. "Hey, are you gonna hear me out this time?"<p>

They both turned to look at him, Mr. Eyebrows with a slight frown, the other one with a predatory smile. "I hear you were being quite rude earlier," the one with the pretty hair purred as he walked over to the bed. Alfred wasn't great with accents, but the voice clicked with the one he had heard earlier: right, French. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." He held out a well-manicured hand. "A pleasure to meet you."

Alfred brightened a little and took his hand. "I'm Alfred," he said. His gaze strayed back towards the Brit. He noticed Alfred looking and looked away with a huff. Alfred grinned and looked back at the Frenchman. "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend Eyebrows there. Would you mind passing me my jacket?"

"Of course." He handed the jacket over. Alfred ran a hand down the jacket's lining, looking for the hidden pocket. "Looking for this?" the man asked.

Alfred looked up. The Frenchman was holding a handgun – _Alfred's _handgun, standard issue. He was also smirking in a way that made Alfred suddenly like him a whole lot less. At least it had been obvious when the one with the eyebrows was lying. Alfred frowned and tried not to betray how uncomfortable it made him that he had already been disarmed. "Actually, I was looking for this." He slipped a hand inside the hidden pocket and pulled out his badge. He flipped it open. "I'm from the FBI. You are under an obligation to cooperate."

"So that's what it was," the Brit might have muttered, but Alfred couldn't be sure. He was a little too distracted by the _click _that followed his statement and the fact that the Frenchman was now pointing a cocked gun at Alfred's forehead.

"Whoa," Alfred said, and put up his hands. "Whoa, whoa. There's clearly some kind of misunderstanding here." He quickly looked over the man with the gun. Hair, blond. Height, probably a bit under 6 feet. Dangerous? Definitely. He wasn't 100% certain, but it was worth risking. He met the Frenchman's eyes evenly. "You're the reason I'm here. I read your file. Well, part of it, anyway. I know you're wanted in Britain, but I don't know why. The FBI's known for ages. Why do you think we haven't extradited you yet?" He leaned forward. "Because we need your help. _I _need your help. One of our agent's in serious trouble, and – well, I can't tell you the details, but we need you, okay? As far as the government's concerned, after this is over, we never met. No charges, no nothing. I swear."

There was an expression of recognition on his face, and Alfred grinned with sudden triumph. The man actually laughed. "No, Alfred, I'm not who you think I am. My name is Francis. The man you're looking for is standing over there."

Alfred blinked and looked at the tweed-coated back that was now turned partially to him. "You're Arthur Kirkland? But you're so normal," Alfred blurted out.

Arthur snorted and turned to face him. "Exactly how much of my file did you read?"

"Um." Alfred frantically tried to match the file to the man standing in front of him. Now that he looked, he could see that Arthur and Francis were about the same height and probably similar in age. "I guess not a whole lot. It was kind of vague on exactly . . . why you'd be helpful."

Francis lowered the gun and chuckled. He put the safety on and tossed it back to Alfred, who caught it easily. (Meanwhile, Arthur looked as though he was about to have a heart-attack at the casual treatment of the firearm.) "I see we don't have to worry about you."

Alfred looked between him and Arthur. "Okay, what am I supposed to know here?"

Arthur sighed and walked a little closer to the bed. He ran a hand through his hair. "Do you know why I had to leave Britain?"

"No."

"They kept arresting me for knowing too much. The funny thing was, they could never figure out how I knew what I did, and I always knew how to escape from wherever they were holding me. Do you know why that was?" Alfred shook his head. "Because I can read minds."

For a split second, Alfred couldn't decide whether to laugh or to be horrified. Luckily, his usual instinct took over and he laughed. And laughed. Francis chuckled along with him while Arthur was starting to look irritated. Finally, Alfred calmed down enough to speak. "_You _can read minds?"

"Yes."

"Like, as a magic trick, or for real?"

"For real." Alfred started laughing again and Arthur scowled. "If you want my help you had better bloody well show me some respect," he snapped. "Despite its history of incompetence, I would have at least expected the United States government to send someone who knew what he was getting into."

That made Alfred stop laughing. "Hey, we aren't incompetent."

"Oh really," Arthur said. His eyes flashed and he crossed his arms. "Would you like me to give you a history lesson?"

"Now, now," Francis said with a smug smile, "We have better things to worry about. If it helps, Alfred, he's telling the truth."

Alfred bit his lip. He was starting to get the feeling that these people weren't kidding. "Prove it."

Arthur walked over and gripped Alfred's upper arm. Alfred looked down at the hand in surprise. "What is your favorite color?"

"Red, white, and blue, of course," Alfred said with a cheeky grin.

"You're lying. It's orange, but you don't tell anyone because you once had a girlfriend who hated it. Also, you think I'm a pretentious prick, which I am, but not as much as Francis. You're right about him being awfully comfortable with that gun of yours; he used to be a bodyguard in France, and if you give him a chance he'll make a dirty joke about two of the things I just said." He released Alfred's arm. "Satisfied?"

Alfred gaped at him. "You're really not kidding."

"No, I'm really not. I can also heal physical damage, which is why all you have right now is a horrible headache and not an actual concussion."

Alfred was starting to feel uncomfortable. "Should I, uh, mask my thoughts or something?"

"It requires physical contact." Arthur gave him a disdainful look. "And since that disgusted you so much, I'll be sure to refrain from it in the future."

"Hey," Alfred said, a little hurt. "I wasn't disgusted."

Arthur huffed. "Let me make this as simple as possible. I will not cooperate with you, no matter how much you threaten me with that badge of yours, until you honestly believe that I can read your mind and trust me to do so." With that, Arthur stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

"He seems to do that a lot," Alfred said to Francis.

"He's easily offended," Francis said with a smile. "He's also exceptionally stubborn. Perhaps you'd like to stay the night? I doubt he'll come around anytime before that." He gestured at the room. "I hope you'll excuse the meager accommodations. We don't have guests often."

"Um, sure. Thanks," Alfred said. "May I ask why he's so touchy?" Alfred asked as Francis gathered up the cup of cold tea to take it away.

Francis chuckled. "I'm afraid only he can tell you that. However, you should know that this is not the first time the FBI has blackmailed him for help." He gave Alfred a slightly sad smile. "If you ask him to look into the mind of someone who has recently been tortured for information, I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill you." He turned to leave and paused. "Oh, and your shirt is on that chair there. It took Arthur an hour to get the fake bloodstain out of it. You people _really _just keep coming up with the strangest ideas of how to make an agent inconspicuous, don't you?" He left and shut the door neatly behind him.

Alfred lay back on the pillows with a sigh. So that was Arthur Kirkland, one of the best-kept secrets of the FBI: a man who could read minds. His boss must have had a good reason to not tell Alfred that Arthur (a) was basically telepathic and (b) had a grudge against the government. He was pretty sure that basically being held hostage hadn't been part of the plan. When he had gotten out his badge, he had checked that the letter he was supposed to deliver to Arthur was safe. He hadn't told Arthur yet, but Alfred's only really purpose on this mission was to keep Arthur alive. He was finally beginning to understood why.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

Alfred found that getting beat up, even when he had been expecting it, was really pretty tiring. Plus, he didn't really feel like he could just get up and wander around the house when that crazy little Brit could be lurking around any corner. He dozed on and off, so he wasn't sure how much later it was that Arthur opened the door again. He didn't even come all the way into the room this time. "Dinner's in ten. Do you want to eat with us or in here?"

Alfred peered at him and thought about this. He was starving, but the food would probably come just as quickly either way. However, Arthur still didn't seem too pleased about his presence, so maybe it would be better to avoid the whole awkward-conversation-around-dinner thing. Of course, if he tried to be friendly (as much as he had already failed on that front), Arthur might be more willing to cooperate. If he pled invalid, though, he wouldn't have to get up . . .

"I'm sorry, I should have phrased that differently," Arthur said, breaking Alfred out of his thoughts. "I wasn't really giving you a choice. Get dressed and get out here." Arthur slammed the door shut behind him.

Alfred muttered something less than kind under his breath. He supposed he should put his shirt on, but it was on the chair halfway across the room, which meant that he had to get up. Well, okay, he had to get up no matter what, but he didn't want to get up _now. _Alfred thew back the covers and stifled a groan as he threw his legs over the side of the bed. Until then, he had been purposefully avoiding cataloging his injuries beyond the obvious, because he knew that it wasn't going to be pretty. Sitting there on the side of the bed, he prodded his side until the sharp jab of pain confirmed what he had feared: a rib, probably cracked, if not outright broken. There wasn't a mirror in the room, but gently pressing a hand to his face told him all he needed to know: it was a mess of bruises and scrapes. They hadn't broken his nose, for which he was thankful. As it was, he doubted he could walk outside without someone noticing that he looked like he had just been in a fight.

He threw on his now-clean shirt (the fake bloodstain had been completely removed, which impressed him in a vague sort of way because he hadn't been sure if it could be removed at all) and his jacket which, thankfully, didn't appear to have actually been washed (dry clean only – it was the only piece of clothing he actually cleaned according to the directions). He checked it carefully for damage. He was pretty sure that there had been some blood on the collar, but that was gone too. He pulled on his socks and boots and limped out the door.

He was surprised to find himself not in some rundown apartment, but a rather nice, cosy one. The wallpaper was in a rather old style, but it certainly wasn't peeling. He was in a short hallway, and beyond it he could see what looked like a cosy living room, complete with a doily on the back of the couch. He heard someone murmur something in the room beyond, and suddenly Arthur was standing at the end of the hall. He looked surprised, as if he hadn't actually expected Alfred to show up. "Bathroom's the door on your right," he said, and then disappeared again. Alfred, however, hadn't missed that Arthur had been wearing a white apron with pink roses embroidered on it, along with matching oven mitts.

Alfred obediently went into the bathroom and finally got a look at his face. It was worse than he had thought. His whole right cheek was purple and red from the bruising, though he had somehow escaped without a black eye. There was a cut on his forehead that had a Bandaid stuck over it, which he hadn't even felt. He touched it experimentally and winced. He was about as conspicuous as a Christmas tree in July.

When he came out, Arthur and Francis had finished setting the table and were seated at either end. It was large enough to seat six, so Alfred was able to sit equally far away from both of them. Dinner appeared to be some sort of lasagna-type dish and green beans. They looked at Alfred expectantly, so without further prompting he served himself a huge helping of the lasagna. "This looks great!" he said excitedly as they served themselves.

"Don't you want some green beans?" Francis asked, offering him the bowl. Alfred saw that he and Arthur had both already taken decent helpings.

"Oh, I don't really like–"

"Just take one," Arthur said exasperatedly. "I don't want to hear his speech _again_."

"Um," Alfred said, and looked between Arthur and Francis. Francis smiled encouragingly. Alfred very purposefully pulled out exactly one green bean. He put it in his mouth.

It was absolutely, mouthwateringly delicious.

"What do you think?" Francis was smirking. "It's alright, you can say it, _cherie._"

"Say what?" Alfred asked as he tried to simultaneously pile more onto his plate and put a forkful in his mouth.

Arthur gave a small groan. Francis grinned. "It is like sex in your mouth, _non?" _

Alfred nearly spat out a mouthful of green beans. Francis chuckled. "Ever so modest," Arthur muttered into his water glass. Alfred decided that he didn't really need to respond.

Then Arthur and Francis started talking. Alfred hadn't really been sure what to make of their relationship before, and this certainly wasn't helping. Their conversation quickly dissolved into a heated argument that made Alfred feel like maybe he should leave, but when they were done they acted as if it were completely normal and they had never had the argument in the first place. After a few pleasantly exchanged words between the two of them, Francis turned to Alfred and said, "Tell me, what is this mission of Arthur's like?"

Arthur made an indignant noise while Alfred blinked in surprise. "Huh?"

Francis waved his fork dismissively. "You can tell me. I hardly have a reason to betray anyone here. Unlike Arthur, I have no problem with your government."

"I don't have a _problem _with the government," Arthur said, but he was blushing. He busied himself with helping him to seconds and determinedly avoided both their eyes. "If you cooperate with me, I'm sure we'll have no trouble. And honestly, you should be aware that I know Francis. You can trust him with anything you can trust me with, which, as we already discussed, should be just about everything."

Alfred wanted to sink down into his chair until he disappeared. "You really wanna read my mind?" he asked in what he hoped wasn't a very pitiful voice.

Arthur looked up and his face immediately softened. "It's alright, love," he said gently. "It's really not that bad. I'm not asking you to give up your darkest secrets. You can control what I read, for the most part. We can practice."

"Okay," Alfred said in a small voice.

"They really didn't tell you anything?" Francis asked with what might have been a sympathetic smile if his voice hadn't seemed to be on the edge of laughter.

Alfred poked a bit of lasagna around on his plate. "Not really."

"They never do," Arthur said, and Alfred looked up at him. He was smiling slightly. "They can't risk me unearthing state secrets. The less you know, the better for them." He stood with a little sigh and began to clear their plates. "Dessert?"

Alfred brightened up. "Yes please," he said enthusiastically.

Francis chuckled and rose to help Arthur with the dishes. "Don't get too excited," he said. He looped an arm around Arthur's waist and pulled him close, nearly causing him to drop a pile of dishes. Arthur spluttered and turned pink. Francis smirked and angled them so his lips were almost brushing Arthur's cheek. "Arthur made it."

"Yes, yes, now _let go,_" Arthur demanded, pushing Francis away with one hand while balancing the dishes precariously on the other. Francis released him with a laugh. Alfred felt inexplicably jealous. What was _up _with these people? Couldn't they make up their minds about whether they liked each other or not? He stood and began to clear his own plate, but Arthur tsked and took in from him. "I'll get that."

"Uh, thanks," Alfred said, and sat back down.

Francis cleared all the dishes Arthur couldn't carry. A moment later, Francis was back. He took his seat and leaned across the table. "Don't worry," he said to Alfred in a stage whisper. "I was in the kitchen the whole time, so it can't have gone too wrong."

"I can hear you," an irritated voice called. Francis chuckled. A moment later, Arthur returned with a pie in his hands. The top crust had been carefully woven into a simple basket-weave.

"What kind is it?" Alfred asked eagerly.

"Pear," Arthur said proudly. He cut them each a slice. "So?" he asked when they had all taken a bite.

Alfred nodded. "Pretty good."

"Acceptable," Francis admitted.

Arthur beamed. "Oh good," he said. Alfred supposed that his cooking must be really awful for him to find such weak praise that flattering. "So, about the mission," he said, turning expectantly to Alfred.

"Oh," Alfred said. He glanced warily at Francis. "One of our agents went missing. We pretty much know where at this point, but it's going to be a challenge to get him out."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Classic. You get yourselves into messes you can't get yourselves out of."

Alfred gave him a half-hearted glare. "There's also some question about his identity, so we need you to tell us if it's really him before we actually extract him."

Francis raised his delicate eyebrows. "Are you going to be extracting him, with your team of one?"

Alfred looked at him grimly. "I will if I have to. I'm supposed to have access to backup if I need it, but it's unlikely."

They were silent for a moment. _Suicide mission _was the unspoken phrase in the air. It was clear from Arthur's furrowed brow that he was trying to puzzle out _why, _something Alfred was trying hard not to think about. Finally, Francis leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Well, it is clear that you are going to need my help."

"I suppose," Arthur said thoughtfully. Suddenly his brow cleared and he looked at the clock. "About time for bed, it looks like. Well, help us do the dishes, then," Arthur said as he stood. Alfred dutifully cleared his plate and followed Arthur and Francis to the kitchen. Francis began to put away various cooking ingredients, humming as he did so. Arthur handed Alfred a drying towel. "Speaking of," Arthur said as he began to run the water, "If the prep for this mission is going to take more than a day" – here he looked significantly at Alfred – "Which it's looking like it is, you can't just sit around like a lump all day, though you obviously can't go outside. You'd die of boredom before twenty-four hours had gone by."

"Less than that, probably," Alfred said, but Arthur paid him no heed.

Arthur soaped up a plate. "There are dishes that need doing, cats that need feeding. I'm not proposing that you vacuum the whole place, but a little help would be appreciated."

"Cats?" Alfred squeaked out as he took the clean plate from Arthur. "But – I'm allergic."

"Nonsense," Arthur said breezily. "If you haven't blown up into a balloon by now, you're not going to. Just don't touch them and you'll be fine."

"How many do you have?" Alfred asked.

"Just two."

"The spotted one has a nasty temper," warned Francis. "I don't advise disturbing it. The silky one, however–"

"Does nothing but sit around all day grooming itself," Arthur snapped. "_My_ cat is perfectly sensible."

Francis snorted. Alfred quickly interrupted before it could get worse. "How'd you and Francis end up living together?" he asked, and immediately realized it was probably the most awkward question he could have said. He mentally winced. What was wrong with him? But Arthur acted as though it was a perfectly normal thing to ask.

"Oh, he moved here with me when I left England. We were a couple back then."

"You're not a couple now?" Alfred asked, honestly surprised at this point.

"Oh, well," Arthur said, and waved a hand dismissively. Francis smirked in a way that made Alfred distinctly uncomfortable. "He's useful, anyway," Arthur said, though Alfred couldn't tell if the comment was meant to be related or not. "I think you might say, 'It's complicated.'"

Alfred laughed awkwardly and quickly took the next plate that was handed to him. He decided that he really didn't want to know.

* * *

><p>Once they'd finished the dishes, Arthur thew an assortment of towels, blankets, and toothbrushes at Alfred. "Just in case," Arthur told him, and bustled off to do something elsewhere in the apartment. He also convinced Francis to lend him a t-shirt and some sweatpants to sleep in, from what Francis told Alfred when he handed them to him. They didn't really fit but they were mostly comfortable, so Alfred didn't complain.<p>

Arthur managed to intercept Alfred after he had changed but before he could go to bed. He stood casually in the doorway of Alfred's bedroom. "Would you like me to heal you up a bit?" he asked Alfred. His eyes were cautious but kind. "That rib won't be pleasant to sleep on."

"Um, yes please," Alfred said uncertainly.

"It's probably best if you sit," Arthur said, gesturing to the bed. Alfred obediently sat down. Arthur pulled up a chair and took a deep breath. "Okay," he said, looking into Alfred's eyes. "There are ways you can block me. I can only hear the surface of your thoughts, so I won't be able to know anything you don't want me to unless you think about it. If you tell yourself a story or recite a song to keep you distracted, I won't be able to hear anything but that."

"Are you sure?" Alfred asked warily.

Arthur nodded. "I promise."

"Alright," Alfred said reluctantly. "Make me better, then."

Arthur smiled a little. "I can't do everything. When we first found you, I concentrated on your concussion and your rib. At this point, you're in no mortal danger – not that you ever were, I suppose – but I still probably won't be able to heal everything in one go. Do you have a headache?"

"Yeah," said Alfred.

"Alright. I'll start with that."

Alfred nodded. He watched as Arthur closed his eyes and seemed to prepare himself. Sing a song? What should he sing? He decided the Beatles were neutral enough, so he chose the first song that came to mind. _Heeeey, Jude – _Arthur pressed his fingertips to Alfred's temples and Alfred carefully avoided his eyes. _Don't make it bad; take a saaad sooong and make it – _Alfred glanced at Arthur and their eyes met. Alfred's eyes widened and he couldn't seem to look away. Arthur's eyes were so _green. _Shit, was this what Francis saw in him? Alfred realized his mistake too late and hastily stared at the ceiling. – _bet-ter. Re-mem-ber to let her into your heart – _

Arthur chuckled a little. "I'm flattered," he murmured. "I've always thought my eyes were my best feature."

Unbidden, the thought of, _Oh, I don't know about that, _accompanied by slightly suggestive possibilities,rose to the surface of Alfred's mind. _I mean, they would be if it weren't for those eyebrows, _Alfred added hastily. He could feel himself turning pink.

"Hey," Arthur muttered with a little frown.

_Then you can staaart – to make it – bet-ter. _

"Alright," Arthur said. He took his hands away and Alfred let out a sigh of relief. "Take off your shirt. Your rib's next."

Alfred made a face, but he took off his shirt and leant back against the pillows. Arthur pressed cool hands to his skin and Alfred almost jumped. He was _not _used to have attractive males (_not, _he added quickly) touch his bare torso. He coughed awkwardly to cover up his surprise and then realized that Arthur could, of course, see right through it. _How do people work with you? _he asked unthinkingly.

"Most don't," Arthur murmured. His brow was furrowed in concentration. Alfred could almost feel the bone knitting back together, and it was an absolutely bizarre experience. _Hey, Jude, don't be afraid; you were maaade tooo – go out and get her – _

"You're horrible at singing," Arthur told him. A bead of sweat was showing on his upper lip and Alfred could feel his pulse beating too fast against his skin. Alfred felt sudden sympathy and appreciation for Arthur and what he was doing. Arthur smiled faintly at the subtle thanks and Alfred grinned.

_The minute – you let her under your skiiiin, then you begiiiin – to make it bet-ter. _

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: <em>The Beatles obviously belong to the Beatles.


	3. Chapter 3

_General service announcement: _"Bemused" does not mean the same thing as "amused." I know how easy it is confuse them because I used to (as much as I hate to admit it). Please be aware that "bemused" means confused or puzzled, while "amused" means that you/they/the subject find something funny.

Thank you, that is all.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 3 <em>

Alfred slept more soundly than he had expected to in a strange bed that belonged to people he hardly knew. He stumbled into the bathroom and showered, which did wonders. When he came out, fresh and clean (and with hair that was now twice as silky and shiny, according to the shampoo he had borrowed), he felt almost completely back to his normal self. He found Arthur in the kitchen, drinking a cup of tea and reading the newspaper. He glanced up at Alfred. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Alfred returned with a grin. "What's for breakfast?"

"Francis will make something when he wakes up from his beauty sleep. There's cereal in the cupboard next to the fridge if you can't wait."

Alfred disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with a large bowl of cereal in hand. He sat down across from Arthur and began to happily slurp it up.

It took only a minute or two for Arthur to get honestly annoyed. "Will you stop that?" he finally snapped. "Did you ever learn to eat properly?"

"Hey, I'm hungry," Alfred said, not fazed in the least. He didn't stop slurping.

"Why do you wear glasses anyway?" he demanded, having apparently run out of other things about Alfred that annoyed him. "Don't you have to have 20/20 vision to be field trained? Or am I confusing the FBI with the military? You are field trained, aren't you?"

Alfred laughed and adjusted his glasses on his noes. "Don't let the glasses fool ya. These are part of my disguise. I never wear them around the office, and I am 100% trained for the field."

Francis strolled into the room, already impeccably dressed. "Really?" he asked amusedly. "Then why do you never take them off?"

"Because then it wouldn't be a disguise, duh," Alfred said, and rolled his eyes for good measure. Francis and Arthur exchanged looks – amused and exasperated, respectively.

"Well, I think I am going to make some pancakes, if that would be suitable for both of you," Francis said as he went into the kitchen.

"I love pancakes!" Alfred said with a grin.

"But you've already eaten," Arthur pointed out.

Alfred gave him an incredulous look. "Yeah, and I can eat more." Arthur clucked his tongue in irritation and disappeared back behind his newspaper.

"So tell us more about your disguise, Alfred," Francis called from the kitchen. "If that is your real name."

"It is," Alfred and Arthur said at the same time. Alfred looked at Arthur in surprise. "Hey, how'd you know?"

"You may not realize this, but you respond to your name every time someone says it," Arthur said. "In fact, you almost broadcast it. You're really quite proud of it."

Alfred grinned. "Yup! Alfred F. Jones."

Francis poked his head out of the kitchen. "How is it a disguise if you use your real name?"

Alfred laughed. "Are you serious? Do you know how many Alfred Jones there are in the US, let alone this city? I don't _need _a fake name."

Francis and Arthur both looked at him. "You aren't serious," Arthur said flatly.

"Um, yeah? I have a brother who works in the Canadian intelligence agency or whatever. His name is _Matthew Williams. _Do you have any idea how hard it is to track a name like that? Plus no one ever remembers who he is anyway, but that's a whole other thing. Probably why he's so good at his job." He grinned.

"Unlike you, obviously," Arthur muttered and returned to his paper.

When the pancakes appeared, Arthur took two while Alfred happily piled five onto his plate. Arthur kept making irritated noises whenever Alfred chewed particularly loudly, but for some reason he stayed at the table, even when Alfred got seconds. Francis seemed amused by both of them but left as soon as he was done to get ready for work. "Don't die, please," Francis called to them as he left.

"We'll try not to," Arthur muttered as Francis walked out the door.

Alfred begrudgingly helped Arthur do the dishes. "So what are we doing today?" Arthur asked Alfred. "I assume you have some sort of plan."

"Heh, yeah," Alfred said as he dried a plate. He took a deep breath. "Okay, so officially I need you to come to a party thing with me tonight. Our inside agent hasn't been able to figure out exactly where our agent is being held, but a couple people who would know are going to be at that party."

"Hmm," Arthur said, frowning slightly. "Who did you say has your agent, again?"

"They deal drugs and stuff," Alfred said vaguely. "We finally managed to get an agent inside in deep cover late last year, but it turns out they're going to be a little harder to take down than we thought."

"And your agent was gathering information? Or trying to 'take down' the company?" Arthur asked, looking at Alfred out of the corner of his eye.

Alfred grinned. "I can't really tell you that. It's not important, anyway."

"It might be if you're wondering whether your agent's still alive or not."

Alfred shrugged. "We know he is," he said.

"And you want me at this party to figure out where he's being held."

"Yes."

"And then you'll extract him."

Alfred hesitated. "Yes."

Arthur raised an eyebrow at that. "And am I going to be involved in that particular part of the plan? You said something about verifying the agent's identity, but do I actually need to come with you to do that, or can you bring him back here afterward?" Alfred was silent. "Alfred?"

"We'll get there when we get there," Alfred said finally. "I don't really know at this point."

Arthur tsked. "You may be decent at it, but I can tell when someone's lying." Alfred looked down in surprise to make sure they didn't have any physical contact. "No, not that way. You think I wouldn't know the signs at this point?" Arthur sighed. "So I'm going with you, then. Well, nothing for it, I suppose."

"I'm pretty good at keeping people from getting killed," Alfred said with a grin.

"I'll take your word for it," Arthur said dryly. He turned off the water and dried his hands. "Well, I suppose you have some pictures to show me or something. Give me the official briefing."

* * *

><p>An hour later, they had gone over every detail they could think of. Arthur had been acquainted with the physical appearance of the particular representative of this company they would be trying to get information from: a man named Gilbert Beillschmidt, who was wanted in several countries for criminal activity of varying degrees of severity. After a bit of prodding, Arthur had also gotten Alfred to show him a photograph of the missing agent, one Feliciano Vargas, and give a detailed description of him. Arthur tapped the photograph with one finger. "I can't actually talk about him, of course, but I do need some kind of trigger to make Gilbert think about him." He frowned slightly. "I would see if Francis could help one of us look like him, but I think we're both a lost cause in that area. The name is so obvious, but you're not giving me much else to work with." He sighed. "How are you getting us on the guest list?"<p>

"We're both already on it."

Arthur tensed. "You didn't put my real name on it, did you? I swear–"

Alfred laughed and handed him a fake driver's license. "Your name's Arturo Giordano now. We figured it was close enough you'd respond to it, but different enough it wouldn't be totally obvious."

Arthur looked at the license in surprise. "Oh, that's actually quite intelligent. Italian, too, that works nicely."

Alfred grinned. "We aren't completely incompetent, huh?"

Arthur smiled. "I suppose not."

* * *

><p>That afternoon, Alfred disappeared temporarily to locate an agreed-on drop site, where he found a nice suit, a change of clothes, and an extra firearm with ammunition waiting for him. He checked for extra news from Liz, but there was nothing. By the time he got back, it was near dark and Francis was in the process of making dinner. Arthur was already dressed in a suit and tie, and at some prodding from Francis, he explained why.<p>

When Francis heard that Arthur was going to be going undercover as an Italian, he laughed, and then he insisted that no one was going to think he was an Italian if he went looking like _that. _Arthur grumbled, but submitted himself willingly to Francis after dinner with the assumption that Francis was just going to change his tie. A large amount of hair gel and a lot of cursing later, Arthur and Francis emerged from the bathroom. Francis was laughing so hard he was crying and Arthur looked as though he was ready to murder him. "I thought it looked fine!" Arthur insisted in a loud voice. "I don't know how you can think that!"

Francis chortled. "A hedgehog! I thought you were hopeless, but it is perfect, _mon lapin!" _He doubled over and dissolved into a combination of laughter and tears.

"Do I really look that bad?" Arthur demanded. He turned around and Alfred finally got a full view of what exactly they had done to his hair. It had been coated with approximately an entire tin of hair gel and combed back. A single strand curved gracefully down to Arthur's cheek. Alfred snorted. He would have started laughing at least as hard as Francis if Arthur hadn't fixed him with a look that made Alfred think he might _really _attempt a double homicide.

"Erm," Alfred managed before he broke into a grin.

"Fine," Arthur snapped. He spun on his heel and stalked back into the bathroom. The door closed with a bang. "Don't come back in here, you frog!" he shouted, his voice slightly muffled through the door, just as Francis was about to follow him. Francis let out a last chuckle and retreated to the living room, shaking his head.

Arthur finally reappeared from the bathroom twenty minutes later with slightly damp but normal hair. He took one look at Alfred and looked shocked. "Oh! I'm terribly sorry, I completely forgot about your face."

Alfred grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess it would be kind of awkward if I tried to get into their party covered with bruises."

"Sit down," Arthur said, and fussily showed him over to the couch. "I'll try to make this quick."

Alfred obediently sat. _Twinkle, twinkle, little star – _

Arthur pressed his hands gently to his face and immediately frowned. "You can't be serious," he muttered. "I'm trying to help you here."

"What?" Alfred asked innocently.

"You couldn't have picked something more annoying?"

Alfred grinned. _How I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky . . . Twinkle, twinkle, little bat, how I wonder what you're at –_

_Wait no, that's the _Alice in Wonderland_ version. _

"You're really awful at this, aren't you," Arthur muttered. He sat back and opened his eyes. He studied Alfred's face and gave a short nod. "All better, I think. Lift up your shirt, then."

Alfred obediently did so. Arthur pressed a cool hand to his skin and Alfred felt discomfort fade away that he hadn't even known he was having. He sighed in relief as his rib knit itself back together and Arthur smoothed away the bruise that had blossomed on his skin above it. _Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are. _

Arthur sat back and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a little sigh. Alfred frowned a little at that; how much did this tire him out, anyway? For a moment, Alfred felt really awful: he hardly knew this man, and he was already taking his help for granted.

"All done, I think," Arthur said. "There isn't much I can do for you at this point that your body can't do faster." He stood and glared at Alfred. "And I'm never healing you again if you keep singing such annoying songs. Do you know how long that is going to be stuck in my head?" Arthur ran a hand self-consciously through his still damp hair.

Alfred grinned. "Yup. And really, your hairdo looked kind of cute." He barely ducked the book that was thrown at him, laughing as he did so.

When they were completely ready, Alfred got out his handgun and checked that it was properly loaded. Arthur noticed and frowned slightly. "How are you going to take your gun in with you?" he demanded. "This is a high-profile party. It's going to have security."

Alfred grinned and winked at him as he slipped it in the back of his trousers. "Don't you worry. I've got it all figured out. They won't have metal detectors, because everyone's shoes and stuff would be setting it off."

"There are still only so many places to hide a gun," Arthur pointed out.

"You'll see," Alfred reassured him.

* * *

><p>An awkward taxi ride later, during which Alfred had not stopped talking and Arthur had not stopped looking worried, they reached the building where the party was being held. It was an old mansion that had been completely refurbished with gorgeous marble floors and polished wooden railings. A crystal chandelier hung in the entrance hall, where guests waited to go through the pair of security guards into the ballroom. An even large chandelier could be glimpsed through the wooden double doors. "See those two men drinking on the right?" Alfred whispered in Arthur's ear as they queued up with the rest of the guests. "Their glasses are both still full. Undercover security, definitely."<p>

"Perhaps it would be easier if you communicated this to me in other ways," Arthur said under his breath. He took Alfred's hand gently. "How many others?"

Alfred's fingers curled warmly around Arthur's palm as if of their own accord. _At least another pair over there, by the stairs. I imagine at least six – no, ten inside the ballroom. _

"Will it be a problem?"

Alfred grinned. _You tell me. As far as I know, no one's figured out how to train guards to detect mind reading. _

They came closer to the guards and Arthur released Alfred's hand. The couple in front of them went, and then it was their turn. Alfred indicated that Arthur should go first and got in line behind him. Arthur took this without comment and held out his arms to be patted down. They let him go through with no trouble (they thought he looked extremely unthreatening, and Arthur wasn't sure whether he should be insulted or complimented), but he waited for Alfred. Before they could pat him down, Alfred suddenly bent down and picked up a white bit of cloth on the ground. "Arthur, you dropped your handkerchief," he said, and held it out to him.

Arthur hesitated because it wasn't his, but he quickly took the hint to play along. "Thanks," he said, and took it. At the same moment, he felt something cool and metallic slip into the back of the waistband of his trousers. His eyes widened, but before he react further Alfred had put out his arms and the guard was patting him down. They let him go and beckoned the next person in line forward. Alfred stepped up beside Arthur, led him gently by the elbow _(Ha, am I good or what? _Alfred was thinking) to an out-of-the-way corner, and swiftly took the handgun from Arthur and put in the back of his own pair of trousers. "How did you do that?" Arthur murmured. He had never seen a sleight of hand that good – if that could be considered seeing one – in his life.

Alfred grinned and walked towards the crowd. "I learned some magic tricks when I was a kid. Turns out they're kinda useful."

Arthur automatically turned his attention to the crowd. He kept close to Alfred and used him as a buffer so that he didn't accidentally bump into too many people. As useful as his mind-reading abilities could be, the random thoughts of too many people out of context could be very disorienting. "Do you see him?" Arthur murmured to Alfred.

"Not yet," Alfred said. The crowd cleared and Arthur found that they were now in front of the table of hors d'oeuvre.

"Food?" Arthur asked exasperatedly.

"Haha, yeah. It's the best thing about parties!" Alfred said with a grin. His hand brushed Arthur's and Arthur realized that Alfred was actually trying to find a vantage point from which he could survey the room. Arthur glanced at him and was impressed: it didn't look like Alfred was scanning the room for the particular man they were looking for, but he was. Arthur tried to look interested as Alfred sampled some chocolate-dipped strawberries. After a few minutes of standing around and trying to look occupied, though, Arthur was getting antsy. Apparently, Alfred was too.

"Care to dance?" Alfred asked, a twinkle in his eye. He extended a hand and Arthur raised an eyebrow. When he didn't move any further, Alfred wiggled his fingers. "Come on, there aren't enough ladies here. Besides, I want to talk to you."

"Alright," Arthur said, though he didn't take Alfred's hand. They moved to the edge of the crowd and both moved to lead at the exact same time. Arthur gave Alfred a look.

Alfred laughed. "Sorry, but I gotta lead this time." He took Arthur's hand (_Haha Artie, you seriously think I've ever gonna let you lead? _Alfred was thinking, while Arthur thought, _Artie?_) and placed it on his lower back as if he were letting Arthur lead. Arthur felt the outline of Alfred's handgun in the back of his trousers just after Alfred's mind informed him of this fact.

"Right," Arthur muttered. With a triumphant grin, Alfred rearranged their positions so that he was the one leading. He paused for a second, and then started to move in time with the music.

Alfred was a surprisingly good dancer. It also helped a lot that Arthur could predict how he was going to move, though translating Alfred's vague thoughts into movements that Arthur could follow was a bit of a challenge. "Can you read me through my jacket?" Alfred asked about a second after he posed this question in his head.

"Yes," Arthur told him as they swung past a couple decked out in expensive fabrics and, in the lady's case, diamonds. "As long as the fabric isn't too thick, it doesn't matter."

Alfred nodded. _So you know who we're looking for, right? _He pictured a distinctive man with white hair, red eyes, and a smirk.

"Yes," Arthur replied, wishing for an instant that he could transmit thoughts as well as read them. Then again, of course, Alfred couldn't tell that Arthur happened to find Alfred significantly more attractive at this distance. There was something about having one of Alfred's hands on his lower back and the other clasping his own that made him feel warmer than the temperature of the room called for.

Arthur tried to clear his head by scanning the room, and he knew Alfred was doing the same. When they spotted nothing promising, Alfred's thoughts began to drift. _His hair's actually kind of cute when it's messy, _he thought, and Arthur realized he was thinking about him. Arthur struggled not to blush, even though there hadn't been much feeling besides idle interest behind the thought. _So he's worked with the FBI before. I hope they weren't total jerks to him. _They whirled around the room and Alfred focused momentarily on a man with pale blond hair, but then dismissed him as unimportant. _It's nice staying with him and Francis, even though they're kind of weird. They seem like they'd make a good family, _he thought wistfully, and Arthur started to feel really embarrassed.

Arthur was used to listening to people's idle thoughts, and he had heard some very embarrassing things he really would rather not have heard. It was somehow worse, though, when someone who _knew _he could tell what they were thinking embarrassed themselves anyway. Alfred, he supposed, might not care that Arthur could hear his thoughts, but it embarrassed Arthur to hear something so private. People's opinions of one another always seemed to cause infinite strife, so Arthur always felt like that was something he shouldn't know – especially, for some reason, when it was something nice. Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly. "_Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star_ is still stuck in my head," he said, hoping that the reminder might prompt Alfred to block his thoughts if he wanted to.

Alfred grinned. "Yup, that one gets stuck in mine easily too." _I don't mind you hearing what I'm thinking, _Alfred thought suddenly, and it was very clear, so Arthur knew it was directed at him. _I mean, you'll tell me if I'm thinking about anything too embarrassing, right? _Alfred grinned _in his head _(Arthur hadn't know that was possible),and Arthur knew he was about to do something just to annoy him. Sure enough, Alfred focused on some lady they were passing. _I mean, her boobs are great and everything, but . . ._

Arthur slapped Alfred lightly on the back of the neck and Alfred laughed. Arthur rolled his eyes and looked generally irritated, but he hadn't missed that while the comment had been appreciative, Alfred's physical and emotional response hadn't been.

They twirled around again, and for an instant he saw himself in Alfred's mind's eye: blond hair messy and still slightly damp, but only noticeably so to Alfred because he was looking for it; green eyes, sparkling in the light of the room; his expression, so withdrawn, as though he couldn't bear for other people to see what he was thinking. Arthur stared. Did he really look like that to other people? So closed off? Alfred noticed him looking back and looked away. Another step, step, turn . . .

And then, there he was: a man with white hair, lounging against a wall on the other side of the room, talking and laughing. Gilbert. They continued turning and he was out of sight. _Spotted him, _Alfred thought grimly, and all else was gone from his thoughts.

Arthur nodded slightly in acknowledgement. They worked their way across the room until they were close enough to keep an eye on him, but far enough away that they wouldn't seem suspicious or be particularly noticeable. _What now? _Alfred thought.

_You tell me,_ Arthur thought irritably. "We should introduce ourselves," he murmured instead.

Alfred nodded. The song ended and they came to a stop. "Thank you for the dance," Alfred said with a twinkle in his eye.

"You're welcome," Arthur muttered, trying to make it as clear as possible with his eyes that he was never doing _that _again. Alfred just grinned. They made their way towards the man with the white hair. As they came closer, they saw that he was chatting with someone neither of them recognized. Arthur bumped into Alfred, curious about what he made of the situation. _Are they making a deal? _Alfred was wondering as he carefully studied the man Gilbert was conversing with. Someone said something and the small group of people laughed. Alfred showed no sign of slowing down, so Arthur grabbed his hand. "We should probably wait until they're done," Arthur muttered.

"Alright," Alfred said reluctantly. They retreated to an empty space near the wall. They didn't have to wait long. The group broke apart, most of them leaving and Gilbert staying where he was. Alfred and Arthur quickly moved over to him.

"Hey, you're Gilbert Beillschmidt, right?" Alfred said with a cheerful grin. He stuck out his hand. "Alfred F. Jones. This is a great party you have here!"

Gilbert chuckled and shook his hand. "Of course it is! Most awesome one you've ever been to, am I right?" His gaze fell on Arthur and he cocked his head curiously.

Arthur stuck out his hand. "Arturo Vargas Giordano," he said smoothly just as Gilbert shook his hand. Gilbert blinked, Arthur smiled slightly, and then they both let go.

Gilbert suddenly laughed, startling Alfred. "Italian too, huh? Seems like I'm meeting a lot of them these days. You don't look like it."

"My mother is as English as they come," Arthur said dryly.

"Got it. So, can I help you boys with anything?" Gilbert grinned.

"Nah, we just wanted to say hi," Alfred said.

"The food's lovely," Arthur put in.

"Yeah, though I think you might be out of those little spinach things," Alfred said.

Arthur grabbed him by the arm of his jacket and smiled tightly at Gilbert. "Nice to meet you," he said, and dragged Alfred away.

"What?" Alfred asked bewilderedly.

"You don't tell a drug lord that he might be out of some hors d'oeuvres," Arthur hissed.

"Did you find it out?" Alfred asked, lowering his voice for once.

Arthur let go of his sleeve. "Yes. I know approximately where he is."

Alfred grinned. "Awesome. Exactly according to plan."

Which was about when the Mafia showed up.

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: <em>The "Canadian intelligence agency or whatever" that Matt's a part of is actually the Canadian Security Intelligence Service. I figure that Alfred probably wouldn't be able to remember what it's really called, even though he can reliably remember his brother's name, because, well, there's only so much he'll do for his baby bro'.

I seem to have developed a habit of switching they're/their and you're/your when I type too fast. Kill me now. D: Please let me know if you see anything like that. (Also, writing that gun exchange scene without it sounding overtly sexual was really difficult. /shot)

(/shot again for almost-pun)

(And for the cliff-hanger.)

(Sorry guys.)

(Holy cow, this chapter ended up being longer than I expected.)


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

The FBI's relationship with the American Mafia is . . . interesting. They both know the other organization isn't going away any time soon, so they've learned how to deal with it. Both of them, of course, have decades of practice being inconspicuous, and they put it to good use. Their paths cross less frequently than one might expect, and, for the most part, it works out. That didn't mean that Alfred didn't know exactly what to look for and the names of all the big bosses in the area. He just hadn't planned on needing to put that knowledge to use.

The commotion from the foyer outside the ballroom was hard to miss. The guards for the party were clearly not happy about something, and when four men walked into the ballroom, it was pretty clear to Alfred why that would be. One of them was dressed in a sharp three-piece suit with his jacket tucked under one arm. Both of his hands were in his pockets and he was scowling. He had auburn hair with a distinct curl that wouldn't seem to stay in place, and he looked extremely familiar to both Alfred and Arthur. Behind him, the members of his escort were all wearing suits and long coats. Their hands were in their pockets, and Alfred did not have the slightest doubt that they were all holding onto loaded handguns and were probably armed to the teeth.

Alfred moved closer to Arthur protectively. Their arms brushed and Arthur's mind was suddenly filled with calculations: _Exits, there; ratio of Gilbert's men to his; likelihood of a shootout; how conspicuous Arthur and I are right now; how quickly I can draw if I have to . . . _Arthur was absolutely shocked. Alfred's mind was perfectly clear and precise, very different from the slightly confused and unconcerned agent that Arthur had thought him to be. Until this point, Arthur had been under the impression that Alfred didn't really know what he was doing. Now, he realized that he had been very, very wrong.

"What the hell is this, Beillschmidt," their leader spat. The rest of the crowd had parted for them quickly and fell silent as soon as he spoke. Gilbert leaned against the wall, crossed his ankles, and smirked. The man with the auburn hair came to a stop a few feet from him and glared.

"What is what?" Gilbert asked, to all appearances completely relaxed.

Lovino Vargas ground his teeth. "You know what I'm talking about. Don't play fucking dumb with me."

"Ouch. There are ladies present," Gilbert said in a mocking tone.

"You agreed not to involve him."

Gilbert grinned, showing all his teeth. "I thought he wasn't part of the _famiglia _anymore."

"He can be as much a part of the family as I want!" Lovino shouted. He looked furious. "You have no right to get him involved in this!"

Gilbert laughed. "Someone as awesome as me wouldn't fuck even with you, Romano. Trust me, this is all in our best interests."

"It's Lovino!" he shouted. He was quickly going red in the face.

"Hey Toni, what's up?" Gilbert said to the man at Lovino's right.

"Hey Gil," the man said with a bright smile. His soft chocolate hair and laughing green eyes didn't make him look much like a killer. He was the only one of the three of Lovino's men who didn't look as though he was about to shoot someone. "Very well. You?"

"Awesome, as always," Gilbert said with a grin.

"Stop ignoring me!" Lovino screeched. He walked up to Gilbert and glared up at him. "Have you forgot about your own dear _fratello?_" he demanded. Gilbert's smile lessened and his eyes narrowed. "Don't think this isn't going to get back to him."

Gilbert's smile disappeared entirely. "Fine. Come with me and we can do business."

Lovino nodded sharply and the five men disappeared through a doorway. Gilbert was the last to leave. He grinned at the room at large. "Enjoy the rest of the food," he said. "Don't worry, the awesome me will be back. Don't go anywhere."

The room shifted and the murmuring voices quickly returned to their previous volume. The band started up a song and everything returned to normal.

"That was his brother, then?" Arthur murmured to Alfred.

"Yeah," Alfred said slowly. He was frowning in thought. "The Mafia. I wonder . . ."

"Alfred?" He carefully avoided touching Alfred, as tempting as it was. A thought was tugging at Arthur's attention, and he didn't like it one bit.

Alfred snapped out of it and grinned down at Arthur. "Hey. We should probably get going."

"Sounds like a good idea," Arthur said, relieved. He did _not _want to stay there any longer than he had to.

They were not the only ones who had decided to vacate the premises, so they blended in reasonably well as they passed through the guards and out of the mansion. The moment they set foot on the sidewalk, Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. Alfred hailed a taxi and they got inside. "See, that wasn't too bad," Alfred said with a grin as the taxi began the drive home.

Arthur snorted. "If that's your definition of 'not too bad,' maybe I should call it quits now."

"Hey, no one died," Alfred pointed out.

"No, no one died," Arthur agreed. He looked out the window and they were silent for a moment. Arthur started to pluck at a loose thread on his shirt that Alfred was pretty sure hadn't been there before. Pluck, pluck. He was frowning.

"Something the matter?" Alfred asked. He went to put an arm around Arthur's shoulders in a jokingly-companionable sort of way, but Arthur shrugged him off.

"Don't touch me," Arthur snapped. "It's distracting."

"Jeez, sorry," Alfred muttered, and retreated back to his side of the taxi. Pluck, pluck. Alfred watched Arthur's fingers repeat the harsh motion over and over again. Alfred had realized sometime during the party that he didn't really mind it when Arthur could hear his thoughts. It was kind of cool, actually. Alfred didn't really have anything _that _horrible that Arthur could find out about, after all, and though mind reading had never been very high up there on his list of superpowers (super strength and the ability to fly topped the list, of course), he could imagine it being pretty useful. Arthur probably didn't have to ask that many questions; he could just _know. _It made Alfred curious, though. What went on in Arthur's head? Why was he upset right now? Had he thought something that had offended him? Alfred studied Arthur's face. Except for the frown, it was completely unreadable. Only his fingers betrayed his mood. Pluck, pluck.

Most people didn't think Alfred was very patient. He rushed into things, he spoke without thinking, and he was almost always talking. However, when he wanted to be, he was one of the most patient people he knew. If Arthur didn't want to talk about it, Alfred could wait.

* * *

><p>The taxi dropped them off a few blocks away from Arthur and Francis's house, as per Alfred's request. The lights were still on. Arthur didn't bother to knock, just walked right in. As soon as they crossed the threshold, however, he closed the door and turned to Alfred. "Alright, I would like some real answers," he said. He grabbed Alfred's wrist and glared up into Alfred's surprised blue eyes. "There is no way that organization just 'deals drugs and stuff.' Unless I am very much mistaken, that was the <em>Mafia <em>that walked in there."

"The what?" Francis asked in surprise from the hallway. Arthur ignored him.

"I–" Alfred started.

"Of course you knew they might be there!" Arthur snapped before he could finish his sentence out loud. "You knew his brother was Mafia!" Alfred looked guilty and Arthur gaped. "A Mafia _boss? _But he's–" Arthur shook his head. "Never mind, it's not important. The point is, how could you not tell me these supposedly 'minor details'?"

"Can I speak now?" Alfred asked meekly.

"Yes."

"You know I'm not supposed to tell you everything," Alfred pointed out. "It kinda defeats the purpose of being a secret agent. Yeah, they're kind of a bigger group than I may have implied, but does it really matter? As long as I do my job, they aren't going to bother you." He grinned. "And I really didn't know the Mafia was going to be there. So if you have any questions that aren't about top secret stuff, ask away, but I really can't tell you anything else about that," he said apologetically.

Arthur looked down at where he was holding Alfred's wrist. He didn't need to be able to feel his pulse to know that it was steady and barely elevated, no different than if Arthur had suddenly asked him about the weather. "Have you been lying to me?" he asked quietly.

All he heard in Alfred's head was honest surprise. "Lying to you? Of course not." He grinned. "Don't you know I couldn't if I wanted to?"

Arthur let his wrist drop. "Sorry," he said.

"What for?" Alfred asked. His eyes were very blue.

"For doubting you." Arthur turned away. "I'm going to sleep. I don't want to hear anything else unless it can't wait for tomorrow."

"It can all wait." Alfred looked curious and slightly confused.

Francis put a hand on Arthur's shoulder but Arthur shook his head and brushed him off. "It's fine. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Alfred replied. Francis raised his eyebrows at Alfred. Alfred just shrugged.

* * *

><p>Alfred woke up early, before Francis and Arthur were awake (or at least moving around). He changed into the set of clean casual clothes that had been left for him at the drop site, pulled on his trusted jacket, and took a walk.<p>

Arthur was worrying him. Alfred wasn't used to being mistrusted, and the worst part was that he didn't understand why. Hadn't he made it clear that he wasn't going to let his job interfere with keeping Arthur safe? He had thought that had been evident when he had brought his handgun into the party – strictly not advised, since if he had gotten caught he would have been in more trouble than he would have been in if he had had to use it – and from how open he had been about what they were doing, even with Francis, who was obviously not supposed to know _anything. _Alfred had been specifically advised to not trust anyone he didn't absolutely have to, especially not Arthur, but Alfred didn't follow rules he didn't agree with. He could see absolutely no reason not to trust Arthur, and after all, did he really have a choice? For all intents and purposes, Arthur was currently acting as an outside agent for the United States government. Yeah, Alfred wasn't about to tell him any state secrets (if he even knew any, which was questionable), but he deserved at least basic trust.

After wandering around the block a few times, Alfred took a roundabout path to the site where he and Elizabeta had agreed to exchange messages. Alfred had been trained as a solo agent, and he could theoretically extract Feliciano by himself, but after getting a look at the security at the party, Alfred wasn't so sure it was the best plan. Those guards were quality and probably hadn't just been hired for the event. If Gilbert had enough of his own men to spare for something like that, he was either paranoid about his safety or had a very good team. Judging by his cavalier attitude with Lovino Vargas, it probably wasn't the former. The FBI had also made it very clear to him that they couldn't risk any more agents; this extraction had to done as inconspicuously as possible.

He knew that the FBI didn't ever work with the Mafia on paper, but that didn't mean it didn't happen. In a near-hostage situation like this, it might be permissible, as long as it worked and he didn't tell any of the higher-ups until after the fact. If Gilbert and that Mafia boss hadn't made any deals that would mess up their plan, he might be able to contact them and work something out.

* * *

><p>Arthur and Francis were taking a bath. The water had long since cooled from scalding hot to luke warm, and the bubbles were almost gone. Their legs were tangled together and each of them was leaning back, perfectly relaxed. Arthur liked it when they sat like this. For once, Francis would let his thoughts wander, and they were calm enough that Arthur could block them if he wanted to. It was really the only time even they could be completely honest with each other. After years of practice, Francis knew how to guard his thoughts relatively well, and he took advantage of it. Usually, Arthur was willing to be more talkative as well, but not today.<p>

"I wish you'd just answer me," Francis said suddenly. "I know you won't acknowledge me unless I speak aloud, and I find it very annoying."

"Why should I have to speak aloud when you don't?" Arthur asked. He let his head loll back and didn't bother to open his eyes.

"What do you think of him?" Francis demanded. The same words had been bouncing around his head for several minutes now, but with added undertones of _What do you think of us _and _He isn't hurting you, is he? _

"You worry more than you should," Arthur told him.

Francis sat up properly, water sloshing over the side of the bathtub as he did so. Arthur's eyes opened and narrowed with annoyance. "At least answer my question, for God's sake, Arthur."

"He's honest," Arthur said sharply. "Does anything else matter?"

Francis raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think he can be trusted? If he's been trained to block you out–"

"I know, I know, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

They were quiet for a moment. "He seems to be rather fond of you," Francis said.

"Not any more than the next person. Which, as you know, isn't saying much."

"Don't lie to me," Francis said gently. "I can see the signs. He's very much like I used to be."

Arthur snorted. "You are near complete opposites."

Francis raised an eyebrow. "Come now. The curiosity? The long looks?" And Arthur could see it, in Francis's mind's eye: Alfred looking at him, how happy Alfred had looked the previous night before Arthur had started accusing him of lying, how relaxed Alfred was around him despite the various reasons he shouldn't be. Arthur looked away, because he knew how well Francis could read him, even without a gift like Arthur's.

"So what do you think of him?" Francis asked after a few minutes. "He's certainly very friendly." He smirked. "I wouldn't hold a little fun against you."

Arthur laughed. "He's hardly my type, but thanks anyway. And no taking advantage of him on your end, either," Arthur said in a warning tone. "This is his job."

Francis made a noise of agreement at that, and he dropped his playful thoughts of Alfred's good looks. They were replaced by Francis's concerns about Alfred and what his job was. A man trained like that could hardly be trusted.

"I am worried you're right," Arthur said quietly. Francis began to massage his calf soothingly. "There is something bothering him . . . something he can't tell me because it has to do with his work . . ." He closed his eyes and frowned.

"I know you," Francis said, and Arthur looked at him. Francis was not always honest with Arthur, and they both knew that; it was one of the reasons they weren't together anymore. But Francis did know Arthur, he knew him better than anyone else, so when Francis felt that something was important, Arthur payed attention. _I know your sense of honor. You won't ask him if you know he doesn't want to tell you. But this isn't like that. This is serious. If he's keeping something from you, you should do whatever you have to in order to find out what it is. _"I don't want you to get hurt."

"I have survived for this long," Arthur pointed out quietly. "I won't do anything different this time."

Francis nodded, finding that satisfactory. He relaxed again, stretching out his length as much he could in the small space. His hand drifted to Arthur's foot and he began to rub the tenseness out of it. Arthur couldn't help a little hum of approval. He closed his eyes again and let his head fall back. Suddenly, they heard the slam of a door and the sounds of running footsteps.

"Arthur! Arthur! Guess what!"

"You had better look after him," Francis said with a smirk. _You always wanted children. _

"Oh, bugger off," Arthur said, and poked him with his toe. That was right about when Alfred flung open the door.

Alfred stared. He mostly started at Arthur. Arthur stared back. Francis looked at Alfred in surprise, and then burst out laughing. That seemed to unfreeze Alfred, who began to try to back up through the doorway and bumped into the doorframe instead, while simultaneously turning red as a beet. "Oh fuck, I'm sorry – I didn't mean to –" Alfred babbled. He finally found the doorway, turned, and ran.

"Wait, Alfred," Arthur said, and automatically stood up.

"You should put a towel on," Francis snickered.

"Of course I was going to," Arthur snapped, quickly turning pink himself. He grabbed his towel and stepped out of the bath, hurriedly drying himself. "Alfred," he called, but there was no reply. He quickly pulled on his clothes and buttoned up his shirt as he ran out of the bathroom. "Alfred, it really isn't something to get worked up about." It didn't take long to find Alfred in the small apartment. He was pacing in the kitchen, looking distraught. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Arthur.

"I didn't see anything, I swear," Alfred said so fast that it took Arthur a second to decipher what he had said. "I didn't know – I just heard you talking –"

"So you walked into the bathroom?" Arthur said incredulously.

"I didn't know, okay!" Alfred said, throwing up his hands. "I'm not used to living here! I don't know which room's which!" His face was bright red.

Arthur sighed and crossed his arms across his chest. "It's fine. Now stop looking like I'm going to hurt you. What did you want, anyway?"

"I just wanted to tell you that I got news about stuff, but it can wait," Alfred babbled.

"Why are you so upset, anyway?" Arthur demanded. "Haven't you seen naked men before?"

"But – I don't know. Didn't you say that you and Francis aren't in a relationship?" Alfred's blush, which had faded a bit, was quickly returning. "I thought I didn't have to worry about walking in on stuff like that!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "We weren't _doing _anything. I guess you could call us, well, friends with benefits" – he colored slightly and coughed awkwardly –"But we _definitely_ aren't in a relationship."

Alfred seemed to consider this. "Are you sure?" he finally asked.

"Yes," Arthur said.

"Okay." Alfred's blush faded.

"Now, are you going to tell me whatever it was you were so excited about?"

Alfred brightened. "Oh, yeah! I think I might be able to make a deal with Mafia to get us in safely to Feliciano, if you really know where he's being kept."

Arthur stared at him. "Excuse me?"

Alfred grinned. "The Mafia! I'd totally forgotten that Feliciano's brother is a Mafia boss! There's no way he'd be able to infiltrate the FBI with you here, but there's a rumor about how close he and his brother are. Feliciano is officially forbidden from going on any missions involving the Mafia because of it, because they were worried he'd compromise the mission! If we can get Lovino to help us, we'll have him out of there in no time! Plus, Elizabeta left me a note that Gilbert was supper pissed about whatever went down with Lovino. I think they'd be totally open to working with us!"

Arthur looked at him. ". . . And compromise everything?"

"No! That's the best part! We've got you!" Alfred grinned. "You did figure out where he's being held, right?"

Arthur finally threw up his hands in exasperation. "Do whatever you want. It's not my fault if the government get's screwed over by the Mafia. Yes, I remember where he's being held."

"Great! I'll send them the message right now." He frowned. "Elizabeta might know how to contact them . . ."

Shaking his head, Arthur retreated to his room. He heard a, "See ya later, Artie!" and the door slammed shut.

"Americans," Arthur muttered, and went to go find some socks.

* * *

><p>After that, Alfred started paying more attention to how Arthur and Francis acted around each other. Alfred wasn't very good at noticing subtle things, but it was obvious even to him that Francis and Arthur were very particular about the amount of physical contact they had with each other. They seemed to avoid touching each other for the most part, but when Francis did touch Arthur, his touches were never hesitant. He would sling an arm around Arthur's waist, or kiss his hand, or place a hand firmly on his shoulder. It was as though they had decided at some point that when they touched, there was no point in only going halfway. Alfred could not tell which of them, if either, had initiated this unspoken rule. In a strange sort of way, it seemed to extend to Alfred as well. It was obvious, he supposed, why Arthur wouldn't touch him unless he had to, but Francis seemed to have also decided that even a casual brush of his arm was too much. For the most part, Alfred was glad about that. Francis's hands seemed to wander a bit too much for his liking.<p>

There wouldn't be a message from Elizabeta until at least the next day, so Alfred moped around the house being bored. Arthur finally got sick of it and pulled out the vacuum cleaner. "Make yourself useful," he ordered, "And don't scare the cats." Fifteen minutes later, Arthur came back to inspect him and found him doing a sloppy job. Alfred made a face and started over. When Arthur came back half an hour later, the carpet was absolutely spotless.

"Wow," Arthur said. "Brilliant. Thanks, Alfred."

Alfred grinned. "Yup! When I do something, I do it better than anyone else!"

Arthur smiled. "I don't know about that," he said dryly. "Care to dust the mantelpiece?" he asked in what he intended to be a joking manner.

"Sure!" Alfred said, so Arthur went and got him a feather duster.

Francis stopped by during his lunch hour and found Alfred dusting the back of the couch. "You are aware that this is something out of one of Arthur's wet dreams, _non?" _Francis asked with a smirk.

"What?" Alfred asked in surprise, pausing in his work.

"A strong young man doing his housework?" He laughed and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with a bag (presumably his lunch) in hand. "I'll make it official. If you want him, you have my permission to court him. In fact, please do. Ah, Arthur, don't give me that look. Very well. Alfred, you're hired as our housekeeper."

"What?" Alfred asked again, going pink. "But–"

"I'm afraid I have to get to work," Francis said with a smirk. He tucked the bag under his arm and went out the door.

"Hold on a minute," Alfred said, trying not to sound too panicky as he took a step towards Francis a little too late. The door slammed shut.

"The French have a funny sense of humor."

Alfred stopped and turned around. "What?"

Arthur lifted his eyes from the book in his lap. A cat was sitting on his knee, purring as he petted it idly. There was the hint of a smile on his lips and a glint in his green eyes. "You shouldn't take Francis too seriously."

Alfred frowned a little at him. "What, are you saying that was his idea of a joke?"

"Maybe." Arthur's eyes returned to his book.

Alfred looked between Arthur and where Francis had been, and then back again. "You know, you guys are like complete opposites."

"And you're a little too gullible," Arthur pointed out.

"How did you two meet? Really?" Alfred asked, because he was honestly curious. He perched on the armchair of the couch.

Arthur closed his book and sighed, but he didn't look altogether unhappy about recounting the story. "After there were one too many warrants out for my arrest, I left England and went to France. The English government wasn't exactly advertising that I had managed to steal so much of their information, so I was relatively safe. I started taking jobs as an informant, and one of the people I was supposed to extract information from was one of Francis's clients." He shrugged. "It started out as a summer romance, but it didn't stay that way."

"How many times were you arrested, again?" Alfred asked curiously.

"Fifteen."

Alfred stared at him. "_Fifteen?_"

"Most of them were back home, though three of them occurred in France," Arthur said with a little sniff. "That's why I moved here."

"What were you _doing?_"

"As I said, extracting information and selling it," Arthur said shortly. He drummed his fingers on the cover of his book. "Didn't they give you _any _of my backstory?"

Alfred ignored the question. "So how come you and Francis didn't stay together?"

"Oh, several reasons. One is that we're too similar."

"Really?" Alfred asked.

"Yes. I know he doesn't seem like it, but we're really both quite hot-tempered." Arthur looked down into his lap and frowned slightly, as if at a memory.

"Shouldn't your mind-reading thing have made it all easier, though?" Alfred asked. "I mean, you couldn't really have any misunderstandings, at least on your end, right?"

Arthur smiled slightly. "There you are quite wrong. Francis is one of the best liars I've ever met."

Alfred's mouth dropped. "He can lie to you? But–"

Arthur gave him a look. "If you can block me using a simple song, _of course _he can lie to me."

"But–" Alfred seemed to be struggling with this idea. "But _why? _You guys were in a relationship, right?"

"You have to hide certain things about the government's plans from me, don't you?" Arthur looked at him expectantly. "Would that change if you and I were in a relationship?"

"But that's different," Alfred protested.

Arthur sighed and stood, pushing the cat off his lap as he did so. "No, it's not. Now if you'll excuse me, I should go wash the dishes."

Alfred frowned after him. People weren't supposed to lie. That was about the most unheroic thing a person could do. He didn't always tell the truth because of his job, but that was different – wasn't it?

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: <em>If you are curious about Francis and Arthur's backstory, I am currently writing a fic about precisely that. I'll post it sometime soonish. (I'm also considering writing a fic of Lovino and Feliciano's backstory/life in the Mafia in general, but that will probably happen further in the future.)


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's note: _Ahaha, I am so sorry. First I was preoccupied with school and exams, but then I got home and my motivation just completely disappeared. But anyway, I finally updated! Hopefully this means the end of my slump, but I can't promise anything. :)

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 5<em>

When Arthur woke up the next morning, he simply lay in bed for a few minutes, staring blankly at his bedside table. He couldn't hear anything, no banging around or footsteps, so Alfred had to be still asleep or out of the house. Arthur suspected the later.

Arthur sat up and tried to quietly disentangle himself from the sheets that were wrapped around him and Francis. Apparently he wasn't careful enough, because Francis stirred and raised his head from the pillow. "Arthur?" he asked sleepily.

"Good morning, Francis." Arthur gave up trying to be nice about it and threw off the covers.

"Wait." Francis's hand reach out, fast as a snake, and grabbed Arthur's wrist. Francis's eyes were suddenly clear and alert. _I want to talk to you about Alfred. _

"What about him," Arthur asked irritably.

Francis's gaze slid to the door and he frowned slightly. _I don't want him to overhear . . . _Arthur sighed and shook him off. He opened their door and stepped into the hall. Sure enough, Alfred's door was open, showing an empty bed, and there was no one in the living room or the kitchen. Arthur walked back into the bedroom and shut the door behind him, just in case.

Arthur sat back down on the edge of the bed. "He's not here."

"You've been preoccupied lately," Francis said quietly, "And I can't help but wonder if it has something to do with him." He took Arthur's wrist again, gently this time. _You know I wouldn't mind it, if you pursued him. _

Arthur looked down at the wrinkled sheets. "You know I don't like taking risks," he said just as quietly.

Francis chuckled. "Perhaps you should qualify that. You're one of the most daring people I know."

"_Romantic_ risks, alright?" Arthur said snippily. _Emotional_, Francis corrected in his head. "As you may have noticed," Arthur continued, ignoring him, "Alfred is not exactly the best choice–"

"Tell me how you feel," Francis interrupted with a smile. _You know I won't judge you. _"He is rather cute, _non?_"

Arthur slumped against the headboard. "Fine," he said, though really he was dying to talk about it. He looked away from Francis's knowing eyes. "I thought he was attractive from the first. You know that." Francis nodded. "He's just . . ." Arthur's brow knitted together as he tried to remember what Alfred's mind was like. "He's caring. He's also a lot more intelligent than I think most people give him credit for." He remembered the careful calculations Alfred had done at the party. There had been no question in Alfred's mind that Arthur was the most important, Arthur was the one who needed to be protected. Alfred hadn't mentioned it directly, but Arthur had noticed that sneaking the gun in had been entirely as a precaution against worse-case scenarios involving _Arthur's safety, _and it hadn't been even suggested as part of his job description. "He thinks ahead."

"Farther than you?"

Arthur shook his head. "You know I depend on my abilities too much. I'm very liable to get caught in a trap." His smile was not genuine.

"You underestimate yourself," Francis told him, and the feeling behind the words was real. _Be careful on the mission. _

"I will," Arthur replied, and then broke the physical contact with Francis. There had been no thought in Francis's head about the possibility that Arthur had already let himself get caught in a trap, a very real and dangerous one. Arthur was not certain, but he had found several things about the party and Alfred's actions since then to be odd. Arthur stepped out into the hall. He needed to know if he was right.

Arthur had a very specific honor code. He felt very strongly that some thing were right and some things were wrong, and prying unnecessarily into people's business had always felt wrong to him. It was one reason he tried to avoid bumping into people unintentionally; it felt too much like riffling through their pockets for his comfort. However, Arthur also felt that there were certain times when his code of honor didn't apply. With the feeling that Alfred was hiding something from him stuck firmly in Arthur's head, actually going through Alfred's pockets right now didn't seem like it would be so terribly dishonorable after all.

Alfred had left the guest room mostly neat, though the bed had been made very messily. Arthur clucked his tongue disapprovingly and moved to straighten it, but stopped himself. Alfred's suit was folded neatly on the chair, though the clothes he had been wearing when Arthur first found him were dumped unceremoniously on the floor at the foot of his bed. Arthur scowled, but he knelt next to them and carefully felt through the pockets of the jeans. He found some loose change, an old receipt that had gone through the wash, and, in his back pocket, a rubber band. Arthur frowned and felt carefully around the lining of the waistband and the hems of the legs. Nothing. The t-shirt was sweaty and needed a washing very badly, and there wasn't much of a place to hide anything in it, so Arthur didn't bother with it. The suit trousers, then.

This time, his fingers brushed a piece of crisp paper in the left pocket. He pulled it out and unfolded it. It was a small map, drawn messily, as though in the dark or a moving vehicle. Arthur frowned at it. It was of a room, with a number of small dots arranged around the perimeter. A star was marked on one side. Nearby, a doorway had been drawn, and on the other side of it was an empty space and a question mark. After a moment, Arthur realized that it was a map of the mansion the party had been at last night, probably drawn in the taxi on the way back.

The star was where Gilbert had been standing; the door was the one he and the Mafia had left through to discuss "business"; and the dots . . . There were two at the entrance to the ballroom, and another two off to the side in the foyer: the guards. But there were twelve dots in the ballroom itself, and hadn't Alfred estimated ten? Arthur frowned. At the time, ten hadn't seemed like so many, but looking at the map, he realized that even that number would have been enough to easily cover all the exits. Sixteen guards total, not to mention Gilbert himself, and who knew how many other guests in that room who had been undercover guards or simply loyal to him – Arthur suddenly realized exactly how dangerous a situation he and Alfred had been in. If Gilbert had known he and Alfred were there . . . The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. But really, how could he not? That many guards, and he and Alfred had gone in and out without the slightest problem?

Arthur replaced the piece of paper and put the suit back in its place. Alfred had taken a risk last night, and judging from the map, he knew it. Of course, he hadn't mentioned it to Arthur. Arthur couldn't really hold it against him; Alfred was a secret agent, used to working alone, and for all he knew, Arthur was completely useless and had never done anything like this before.

Arthur was more than willing to prove him wrong.

* * *

><p>Alfred came back after Arthur had already showered, dressed, eaten breakfast, and made himself a nice cup of tea. Arthur was sitting in the living room with a book when Alfred walked in, looking grim. Arthur frowned at him from his place in his armchair, but Alfred only glanced at him before continuing on to the bedroom. When he came back, his grim look had been replaced by a slight frown. "Can I borrow your phone?"<p>

"Of course," Arthur said, and watched him warily.

Alfred picked it up from its place in the kitchen and Arthur could hear him dialing. "Hello?" Alfred said. "I was just calling to check that everything was alright." His eyes flickered to Arthur. "Yeah, she's nice. I'm having a good time." He bit his lip. "I was wondering if . . . you'd heard from my girlfriend."

Arthur frowned slightly, though it didn't take a genius to figure out that this was some kind of code.

"Uh-huh . . . well cool. I'll talk to you later." Alfred hung up and gazed out the window.

"What was the news?" Arthur asked politely after a few moments.

"Hmm? Oh, I don't know." Alfred frowned. "I haven't heard from Elizabeta in a while."

"Ah." There was a pause. "Is she your inside informant?"

"Yeah."

Arthur nodded and tried to return to his book.

Alfred headed back towards his bedroom. "Thanks for the phone," he called.

"You're welcome," Arthur muttered. Alfred didn't immediately reappear, so Arthur put down his book and followed him. He leaned casually against the doorway of the guest room, where Alfred was frowning at the floor, his hands in his pockets.

"Did you talk to the Mafia?"

Alfred looked up. "Uh, no, not yet." Arthur raised an eyebrow and Alfred looked guilty. "Well, yeah actually. But it's kinda illegal, so, um–"

"I won't mention it the next time I see the FBI," Arthur said dryly. There was more silence. "Well?"

Alfred made a face. "They didn't actually show up."

Arthur frowned. "I thought you were sure of this."

"I was."

Arthur watched him silently. "Do you think they've found out?" he asked quietly. Alfred looked up sharply. "About your mission."

Alfred suddenly looked very uncertain. "Why? Do you?"

Arthur looked at him evenly. "I'm not the spy here. Shouldn't you know?"

Alfred gave him a look that for once had nothing playful or light-headed about it. "Arthur." He held out his hand, as though he wanted to shake Arthur's hand. Arthur frowned slightly, but took it. _If they don't know already, they suspect something, _Alfred thought clearly, and even under that Arthur could read Alfred's certainty that Gilbert already knew Alfred was an agent. "Even if they have, I have to go through with it," he said in a low voice. His blue eyes looked intensely into Arthur's. _You don't have to help me, and I won't hold it against you if you don't, but I can't abandon Feliciano. He's a good person and a good agent. _

Arthur was silent. Something swelled in his chest at that, but it hurt. Alfred was really something. "You really do have a hero complex, don't you?" he said. Alfred frowned at him and Arthur smiled slightly. "This may surprise you, but I'm not one to run away from situations like this either. When are you planning on going out there?"

Alfred took a deep breath and his grip on Arthur's hand tightened. There was gratitude in Alfred's thoughts. "Tonight. I can't take a chance by giving them more time to prepare than that."

"I'll be ready." Arthur let go of Alfred's hand. As Alfred let his fingers slip away, Arthur caught a faint thought: _I guess I've underestimated you._ Arthur turned on his heel and left without another word.

* * *

><p>Alfred disappeared for most of the day, probably leaving messages for his superiors and trying to scope out the location. Arthur did what he always did before a mission: he spent a great deal of time thinking. He went through everything that he could recall of Gilbert's thoughts, along with the guards and everyone else he had bumped into at the party, sorting and shifting through them until he felt sure that he had gained every valuable piece of information from them that he could. Then he took everything and organized it in his head, like a map. If nothing else, he had a fairly good impression of who Gilbert was, because nearly everyone at the party had had some sort of opinion of him. He was rash, yes, but also intelligent and manipulative – he would have to be, keeping out of the reach of the FBI for so long. Arthur also did a little research of his own; apparently the brother Lovino had mentioned worked for a government agency – as did Lovino's brother. It was an interesting parallel and one that Arthur didn't miss.<p>

In the late afternoon, Alfred finally reappeared, looking grim. "HQ finally got in contact with me and I've gotten all the information I could." He wiped his palms on his jeans. "To make this go smoother, it would probably be best if you know everything I know."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah." Alfred held out his hand and Arthur took it. Fragments of plans flitted through Alfred's consciousness, along with photographs, orders, and descriptions of people he had never seen. Alfred's mind was in chaos.

"Take a deep breath," Arthur told him. "Focus. I can't read anything here." A thought slid past of, _Oh Arthur, I'd forgotten about your eyes, _and Arthur smiled. It was so fleeting Alfred probably hadn't even registered it. There had been a feeling behind it, too . . . Arthur brushed it away. Alfred's thoughts were quickly condensing around things directly related to the mission – and Alfred's orders.

As if through a blurry windowpane and with the strange sense of being someone else that came with memories, Arthur could see one of Alfred's superiors talking to him. It was the sound of the man's voice and the sense of his words that filtered through the clearest. "_There's a possibility they will know you're coming. Agent Vargas might have talked, but we'll have no idea how much. Liz can only know so much, and she doesn't know where most of their info comes from, anyway. But even though they caught him, Feliciano has some important information on Beillschmidt's group that isn't tied to location. We need Feli back." _

_"And the first extraction (Arthur), sir?" asked Alfred. "You're giving me mixed signals. I can't figure out how important he is." _

_"That man is the most important piece of government property we have," the man told him. "We've paid a lot of money to keep him from getting extradited, and I don't doubt lied as well. But Agent Jones, there is nothing more vital than keeping his existence a secret, and when I say that I mean it. Protect him, but if he's going to be captured, shoot him right between the eyes. That is an order, Jones." _

The memory ended and Arthur realized he was gripping Alfred's hand so hard his fingernails dug into Alfred's skin. The force of Alfred's next thought nearly made Arthur's knees give way. _I will not shoot you for _**_anything _**_in the world, do you understand? _Alfred's eyes were so blue they looked like they were on fire – a gas flame, maybe, before it flared up high.

"I understand," Arthur whispered, and despite feeling like he might throw up at the callousness with which that man and implicitly Alfred's entire _government_ had treated his life, he could not have doubted Alfred's sincerity if his life had depended on it.

"So I really appreciate your help," Alfred said in a rough voice, "But it isn't going to be safe for you, not at all. That's why I'm inviting Francis along."

Arthur considered protesting for a split second. He knew Alfred was expecting him to. "You should," he said instead, and forced a wry smile. "He's one of the best sharpshooters I've ever met. And yes, Mr. Jones," he said as he shook his hand free from Alfred's, because he needed a break from Alfred's mind for a moment, "I have met quite a few sharpshooters in my time. Now, you keep thinking about this letter, though I can tell you're trying to hide it from me." He raised an eyebrow. "I'd like to read it, if you please."

"Oh." Alfred hesitated for only a second before reaching into a pocket inside his leather jacket and pulling out a blank envelope. "Yeah, sure. It's from the boss. I didn't read it," he said as he handed it over, and as their fingers brushed Arthur could tell he was telling the truth.

Arthur slid his finger under an open corner of the sealed envelope and opened it swiftly. The letter was typed on a sheet of paper with only an eagle as its letterhead. There was no mark on it identifying it as from any specific government agency, which was actually, Arthur mused, more suspicious than it would have been if there had been a false name.

_Mr. Kirkland, _

_We are aware that not all of our previous dealings have concluded satisfactorily, despite the significant compensation _(paychecks)_ we have always been willing to offer you. _(A small jab; Arthur had let several jobs fall through after the first time they had made him interrogate someone, and none of those jobs had ended satisfactorily for either party.) _This time, we will not pay you directly, but would prefer that you allow the man currently in your company _(Alfred)_ to escort _(force)_ you to our headquarters for a discussion of some terms which you might find very attractive. Whether you accept them or not, however, you will still be paid in person, providing the mission is completed satisfactorily. _

_The man who was kind enough to deliver this letter _(Alfred) _has our utmost trust _(_To kill you if need be,_ Arthur thought bitterly)_. If you wish to communicate anything to us, do so through him. _

Arthur sighed and put the letter back in its envelope. He would have let Alfred read it – he knew he was curious – but Alfred didn't need to be reminded that Arthur had a less than excellent relationship with his government.

"Sorry I waited so long to give it to you," Alfred said apologetically. "Since you started talking about how much you didn't like the government, I didn't want to set you off again. Did it say anything interesting?"

Arthur shook his head. "Just some stipulations for my payment."

Alfred relaxed and smiled. "Ah. So, are you ready for this thing?"

Arthur smiled back. "Yes, Mr. Jones, I think I am."


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's note: _Happy 4th of July! :D

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 6 <em>

Feliciano was being held in the basement of Gilbert's mansion. The FBI had gotten Alfred a black car with a fake license plate, and by the time Francis got home from work it was parked outside. He took one look at Arthur and Alfred sitting tensely in the living room, put the pieces together, and said, "Ah."

"Wanna join us?" asked Alfred. Pieces of his handgun were spread over the coffee table for cleaning, and he was currently reassembling them. "We leave at midnight."

Francis smirked. "It would be my pleasure. I'll cook up some dinner first, shall I?"

Arthur met his eyes and gave him a look loaded with meaning: _It's been a while since we've done something like this._

Francis's hand brushed Arthur as he went past. _Yes. I still know what I'm doing, Arthur_.

Arthur returned to the map he was drawing from memory of the mansion and where Feliciano was supposedly being kept. A lot of it was guesswork, but combined with some old blueprints Alfred had gotten from the FBI via the drop site, it was enough.

Several hours later, they were all dressed in black and grimly ready. They gathered around the dining room table, where Alfred spread out a collection of maps and photographs. "Okay, so there are a couple things you should know before we set out. Here's the map Arthur drew, combined with the original blueprints." He pointed to it. "This should be good enough to at least get us to where we need to go, but we don't have a whole lot of info on security. Liz says there are always guards stationed here, here, and around this perimiter." He circled the area with his finger. "We're going to avoid this section of the building as much as possible, since there are infrared senors there that will trigger an alarm, plus probably some things she doesn't know about. This area two, since she has zero info on it. This is our primary route" – he pointed – "and this is our secondary. Third option is pretty much anything that doesn't pass through here." He circled a another area and took a deep breath. "Okay, now for the people."

Alfred pulled the photographs over and spread them out. He pointed to the first mostly for Francis's benefit. "Gilbert Beillschmidt. He's the one in charge of this whole thing. This one" – this being a picture of a man with dark, carefully parted hair, glasses, and a stony expression – "is Roderich Edelstein. He's Gilbert's right-hand man. This here is Elizabeta. Don't shoot her." The photographs of the Vargas brothers were last. "This one's Lovino and that one's Feliciano. It's kinda difficult to tell them apart, so . . ." He shrugged. "We'll figure it out. Don't shoot either of them, just to be safe."

Francis nodded while Arthur looked on grimly. Francis smiled slightly and tapped Roderick's photograph. "He does have some good looks, doesn't he?" Francis mused as he bumped into Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur kept his expression carefully thoughtful, though it was a struggle. "For once, I think you and I agree. I've always thought men with glasses were sexy."

"Really?" Alfred squeaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Really?"

Francis and Arthur were now both smirking slightly, though Francis's smirk was more obvious. "Oh yes," Arthur said. "I've never gotten a chance to date one, though. It's quite the pity."

"Isn't it," Francis said with amusement.

"Well, uh, we should head out," said Alfred distractedly. He folded up the maps and photographs, stored them away, and tucked one of his handguns into his shoulder holster, which was hidden from casual observation by his jacket. He offered the other gun to Francis, hilt first. "I figure the more, the merrier. I've got enough ammo for both of us."

Francis chuckled and didn't take it. "Really, I'll need something better than that."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And how are you going do that, Frenchie?"

Francis opened the hall closet, cleared off the floor, and pulled it up. Beneath the floor was a large metal box, which Francis quickly unlocked. He popped open the lid to reveal a rifle, two pistols, a tranquilizer gun, two silencers, and a smaller box of various kinds of ammunition. Alfred's eyes went wide. "Whoa," he said, sounding impressed. "Do you have permits for those?"

"Of course," Francis said as he pulled out a pistol, but judging from the set of Arthur's mouth, that wasn't exactly true. He sighed and ran a hand over the rifle. "I would but . . . I suppose it would be difficult to conceal." He screwed the silencer on the pistol, put it in his own shoulder holster, and fixed the small tranquilizer gun in the holster next to it.

"I don't suppose tranquilizer guns are standard issue in the FBI," Arthur said sarcastically.

"They're short-range only and require a clean shot, so they're not ideal," Alfred replied absently. "I didn't know it was legal for civilians to own them." Francis simply smirked. "Well, I can't say I can complain," Alfred said with a grin. "We're going to need all the help we can get to keep Artie from getting killed."

"You can't say you _would _mind," Arthur said as he pulled the second pistol out of the box, checked it, and then loaded it with an expert's ease. "And I can handle myself just fine, thank you."

Alfred stared. "Wait–"

"You really think I went that long breaking the law without learning how to handle a gun?" Arthur asked. Francis smirked at a joke waiting to be made, though Arthur's glare was enough to get him to shut up.

The black sedan sitting outside had tinted windows and bullet-proof glass, Alfred revealed. It wasn't exactly armored, but it would keep them from standing out and hopefully from getting killed. Alfred slipped into the driver's seat while Francis and Arthur got in the back. The tinted windows weren't really necessary at night; with nothing but the glow of the dashboard to light them, no one could have seen much inside anyway.

Alfred parked across the street and a few houses down from Gilbert's place. Alfred turned off the car and looked at the two of them. "Alright, we're going to do this as a team," he said quietly. "Any one of us says 'down' and we get _down, _got it?" They both nodded. "Right. Follow me."

There was a little-used door at the back of the mansion which Liz had unlocked for them. Getting to it involved climbing over fences and through someone's backyard, but they were not noticed. Once inside, they found themselves in what looked like the laundry room. Alfred led them to a door to the basement, and down they went. Francis watched the stairs behind them while Alfred looked around for the secret door he knew was there. It was more difficult to find than he expected, and he frowned. Arthur put a reassuring hand on Alfred's shoulder, and Alfred understood the unspoken command: _Take a deep breath_. Alfred took a deep breath, and with Arthur's help, found it buried behind a wine crate.

The levels underneath the mansion were impressively expansive. They undoubtedly went under a good part of the block. The walls were cement and the roofs were reinforced with steel. As the group moved farther inside, Alfred at the front and Francis at the rear, they began to feel a bit claustrophobic. This wasn't a place one could escape from easily.

They ran into their first problem several minutes in. All they had been listening to for some time was the sound of their own breathing, but now Alfred could distinctly hear a click, as though someone had set something on the ground. He stopped and touched Arthur's shoulder lightly. _Do you hear that? _

Arthur nodded. They waited, listening. There was the sound of a sigh and someone shifting their weight. _Guards, _Arthur mouthed.

They flattened themselves against the wall and inched forward, all tensed and ready to fire. Alfred peaked around the corner and saw two guards standing in front of a door. Alfred craned his neck to see what was at the other end of the hall, but the hall was too long for him to get a good visual. Alfred drew back and held up two fingers. Francis smiled, walked down to the corner, and shot both of the guards with tranquilizer darts. Unfortunately, the five guards at the other end of the hall noticed. "Hey," yelled someone, and Francis darted back to Arthur and Alfred just before a bullet ricocheted off the reinforced steel door they had been trying to get through.

"I'll distract them, you get Arthur through another way," Francis said surprisingly calmly to Alfred.

"You sure?" Alfred asked, already grabbing Arthur's hand and preparing to run _(shit this isn't good Arthur I have to keep you safe I have to I promised)._

_"Yes," _Francis snapped, and pushed the two of them back the way they had come.

Alfred didn't need to be told again. He yanked Arthur along and they headed down the hall, turning the corner just as the other guards reached Francis.

Alfred's mind was a ticking away information so fast Arthur could hardly keep up with it and run at the same time. He was retracing their steps and trying to figure out what the next best route was, since he hadn't expected to get sidetracked at this particular point in their mission. _This was supposed to be the one unguarded route, _he thought to himself at one point, and Arthur smiled.

"That's how it always works,"Arthur murmured, because they were running for their lives and there wasn't much point in being very quiet now. Alfred looked at him in surprise and smiled.

_You're cool, Arthur, _thought Alfred, and Arthur smiled back.

They went back through a few more hallways and then began to work their way back towards their goal. They slowed to a walk and proceeded with caution. The neat hallways they had been traveling through before had been replaced by cluttered ones that seemed to lead through some kind of storage area. Alfred let go of Arthur's hand, but after a few minutes of Alfred constantly touching Arthur's shoulder to say, _It looks clear ahead, _which Arthur could see perfectly well himself, thanks, Arthur took Alfred's hand back. Alfred glanced at him in surprise but smiled, and Arthur got the general impression of fondness.

Then they turned a corner and found that the way hadn't been clear after all.

* * *

><p>Francis had disposed of the guards easily enough. They were clearly not used to pursuing a fast-moving target, especially when that target was armed. Francis, Arthur, and Alfred had agreed that if they got separated they were to go to one of several pre-determined checkpoints that the other group would be sure to pass through on their way out of the complex. Since Alfred and Arthur wouldn't have collected Feliciano yet, it was Francis's job to make sure the way out would be clear when they did.<p>

The corridors that Francis jogged along were silent and empty. He passed by several doors, but they weren't part of the plan and Francis didn't dare touch any of them. He reached a corner and paused, listening. The hall ahead was empty. He turned and jogged halfway down it before he heard footsteps. Francis stopped running. Two guards rounded the corner, stepping smartly behind a third man they were clearly guarding. The man had pale hair and red eyes, and when he saw Francis he stopped walking and his mouth curled up in a smirk.

"Hello, Gilbert," Francis said evenly.

"Hey, Francy," Gilbert said with a widening smile. "Long time no see."

* * *

><p>Arthur noticed the guards an instant before Alfred did. He dragged Alfred down by his hand, too focused on being quiet to give him any kind of warning, but his obvious desperation made Alfred follow his lead. Arthur drew his knees close to his chest and held his breath as Alfred did the same next to him. He was still holding Alfred's hand, and Alfred's grip had tightened to become almost painful. Footsteps came quickly around the corner and Arthur pressed himself against the wall as well as he could. He could not see them through the crate, but he could hear them well enough. He placed one hand over his handgun automatically, prepared to draw it if it was necessary.<p>

The people, whoever they were, passed by them at a run but without any words or indication of why they were running. Alfred could see them through a crack in the crate he was hiding behind, and Arthur watched the backs of two men men retreating down the hall through Alfred's vision. The footsteps faded away, and only when they were gone did Arthur gasp in a breath. Beside him, Alfred was breathing quickly, though lightly. Arthur relaxed and leaned back, only to find that he and Alfred were pressed against each other.

Arthur froze and suddenly became very, very aware of Alfred. It was as though all of his senses had gone on high alert. He could even feel how Alfred's breathing stuttered a little when they both turned their heads at the same moment to look at each other.

In the aftermath of the adrenaline rush that hiding from the guards had caused, Arthur's mind was wide open and straining to pick up on anything it could, so Arthur saw himself through Alfred's eyes with crystal clarity. He saw his own tousled hair, his disheveled clothes, and his wide green eyes, and he felt Alfred's thought attached to that image thrum through him: _beautiful. _A wave of intense attraction washed over Arthur, and he felt as though every inch of him were on fire.

"Oh," said Arthur very quietly, and realized two things: one, that feeling had been lurking behind every thought he had read off of Alfred for the last two days; and two, Alfred was definitely not the only one of the two of them who was broadcasting that feeling.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7_

Arthur stared at Alfred. Alfred stared back and turned slightly pink. After a moment, Alfred cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Artie?"

Arthur gave him an irritated look and pressed a finger to his lips. Alfred tried to look at it and went a little cross-eyed. "First of all," Arthur whispered, and Alfred's eyes shot back up to his, "Don't speak. Noise echoes here. Second, do not call me Artie. Third, this had better not distract you from the mission."

For several long seconds, neither of them moved. They stared at each other. _What had better not distract me? _Alfred asked in confusion, since Arthur's finger was still pressed to his lips.

"Don't play stupid with me," Arthur growled. He grabbed hold of Alfred's shirt, pulled him forward, and kissed him. It was brief, just a touch of their lips, but it left Alfred looking absolutely stunned. For a moment, as their eyes met, Arthur's gaze softened and he almost told Alfred exactly how he felt right then and there. Arthur quickly looked away. "After this, we are going to have a talk," he informed Alfred, and stood up. He double-checked that his gun was properly loaded and looked down the hallway. It seemed to be clear.

He looked back at Alfred to find him still staring at him, open-mouthed. Arthur turned a bit pink. "Come on then," Arthur muttered, and grabbed him by the arm.

_But – but – _Alfred was thinking frantically. _You kissed me!_

"Don't make me regret it." Arthur glared at him. He shook him a little. "A man's life is at stake, and you finally have my full cooperation on this mission. Don't let it go to waste."

That seemed to clear Alfred's mind. He straightened and nodded. _Let's go. _

Still, as they ran down the hallway, Arthur felt little waves of contentment rolling off Alfred, and Arthur would have been lying if he said that didn't make his own heart flutter just a little in his chest. It had been a long time since he'd had someone be so honestly interested in him, and they certainly hadn't known about Arthur's abilities at this early stage of their relationship. As they ran, Arthur's hand slipped down lower on Alfred's arm, and Alfred finally took Arthur's hand firmly in his own once again. Alfred thought the memory of the kiss back at him and gave his hand a squeeze. Arthur didn't mind that they were on a job, that Alfred was working for the government, any of it; he just felt happy.

Yes, Arthur could get used to this.

* * *

><p>Francis was not surprised to see Gilbert. Francis had known that Gilbert was holed up in this city for quite a while, and he had figured that it would be best to keep an eye on him. Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio had known each other on the continent when they had all worked as bodyguards, and they all knew each other's strengths very well. Francis and Antonio had stuck with that particular career, but Gilbert had quickly developed a taste for organized crime and had stopped taking jobs. Francis had never gotten around to telling Arthur why he had picked a house in that particular neighborhood. Looking at the situation they were now in, maybe he should have.<p>

The most unfortunate thing, however, was that Gilbert didn't seem surprised to see Francis either.

"Isn't it funny that we've all ended up back together again?" Gilbert asked, slowly advancing towards Francis. Francis kept his gun pointed at the floor, but he didn't loosen his grip on it. "Toni's busy guarding that annoying tomato of his, but if you hang around long enough he'll probably show up."

"I think I'd rather not wait."

"What do you think, then? No guns, for old time's sake?" Gilbert tossed his gun to the side and it clattered onto the floor.

Francis didn't trust Gilbert in the least, but he didn't have a whole lot of options. "Why not?" he said with a charming smile, and tossed his own guns behind him.

* * *

><p>Arthur and Alfred rounded a corner and found two armed guards lying on the floor. A third man was standing over them. They both immediately aimed their guns at the man's head. "Hands above your head," ordered Alfred. "Now."<p>

The man turned towards them. He had brown hair and a relaxed grin on his face – the Mafia boss's bodyguard that they had seen at the party, they both realized at the same time. Antonio.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Arthur. He didn't like this at all, and he could tell when his shoulder bumped against Alfred's that he didn't either.

"Lovi asked me to help clear the way, so here I am," Antonio said, still smiling. "He couldn't help himself, but he wants to make sure Feli is safe."

"Did the deal not go through?" asked Alfred. Arthur frowned. This felt very, very off.

Antonio shrugged. "Lovi doesn't always like to follow the rules. Make sure Feli's safe, _¿si?_ Otherwise Lovi will ask me to give you a . . . ah, message." He smiled and walked past them. _"!Adiós!"_

Alfred bumped against Arthur. _Shoot him? I don't like it, but if the Mafia finally wants to help us, I'm not complaining. _

Arthur shook his head. He didn't like it either, but he didn't want unnecessary bloodshed, and it was true that Antonio was helping them. They lowered their guns and Arthur paused to touch both guards on the arm. Their unconscious minds weren't producing many clear thoughts, but when Arthur concentrated he could get a vague idea of their last conscious thoughts. They were both certainly preoccupied with guarding something in the same direction that Arthur and Alfred were going. Assuming the maps and Gilbert's memory were correct, this only reinforced what Arthur already knew.

"We're almost there," Arthur said quietly. Alfred nodded and they proceeded down the hallway at a run. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed them, and they likely didn't have much time left.

Feliciano was in the lowest level of the building recorded on the maps, and he was behind a reinforced steel door. There were three guards. Alfred knocked out two of them while Arthur quickly disarmed the last. "What is the combination?" he demanded as he grabbed the man's wrist. The man snarled but his thoughts had been enough. Arthur knocked him unconscious with the butt of his own pistol.

Alfred grinned and wiped his hand across his lip, which had been split by one of the guard's attempts to defend himself. "Only three? I was expecting five at least. I guess Liz made it here after all."

Without wasting time, Arthur typed in the code. When he pushed open the door, he saw a small room floored in concrete; Feliciano, who was tied to something; a metal bookshelf that was empty; and a security camera, angled well enough towards the door to have already caught him on film. Arthur swore because there was no point in keeping quiet now, and pushed Alfred back with his hand. Hopefully he hadn't gotten in its range. "Guard the door," Arthur hissed at him, trying to communicate, _Stay away and don't come inside _through only his eyes. Alfred nodded and looked down the hallway alertly. Blood was smeared on his cheek, and Arthur very much hoped that his lip was the only place Alfred had been wounded. Arthur dragged his eyes away from him and looked at Feliciano.

Feliciano did not seemed to have been harmed in any visible way. He was blindfolded and gagged, but he seemed to be breathing easily enough. For that, Arthur let out a breath of relief. However, there was no way that Arthur would be able to free him without touching him, and Arthur really, really did not want to know if his imprisonment had involved torture.

Steeling himself, Arthur took off the blindfold first. Feliciano had turned his face blindly towards him, but he started at his touch. "It's fine, I'm here to help," Arthur whispered quickly. The blindfold fell away and Feliciano blinked up at him, squinting in the light. Arthur worked on his hands next; he could take off his own gag. Arthur's hand brushed Feliciano's wrist and he held his breath, but no horrible images assaulted him – only his own face from Feliciano's point of view, along with confusion and _Someone came thank god I wonder if it was fratello. _Feliciano's hands were tied together behind his back with plastic cord and tied to a metal ring in the floor. It did not look comfortable. Arthur itched to pull out a knife he did not have and cut the cord to get out of here as fast as possible, but he knew it would have done no good anyway; the cord was too strong. Arthur set to work undoing the knot.

"How is he?" Alfred whispered from the doorway.

"Fine," Arthur snapped back. Feliciano's hands finally came free. Feliciano tugged at his own gag while Arthur started to undo the cord tied around his ankles. Feliciano was still wearing jeans, probably the ones he had been captured in. He would be noticeable. It had been amazingly easy to free him, but it was going to be hell to get him out of here.

"Are you the one who can read minds?" Feliciano demanded. It was so loud and unexpected, Arthur jumped.

"What?" Arthur hissed back. "And keep your voice down."

Arthur felt a hand on his own and he looked up into wide, sympathetic brown eyes. _I'm sorry,_ thought Feliciano. _If you are, it's my fault you're in trouble_.

Arthur frowned. "Trouble?"

Feliciano's face brightened. _So you are him! Fratello said you would come. _The man's thoughts became frantic. _You have to get out. Fratello will take care of me, but I don't think I can do anything for you–_

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked lowly. His fingers tugged the last bit of the cord free from Feliciano's ankles as if of their own accord. It was as though everything around him had slowed as he searched for meaning in Feliciano's wide, soft brown eyes.

"I'm sorry," Feliciano whispered.

* * *

><p>Francis had forgotten how good a fighter Gilbert was. They were facing each other, both looking for an opening. Francis gritted his teeth. He had hoped that Gilbert would have gotten out of practice in hand-to-hand combat, but he had certainly not. This had been a bad idea.<p>

Francis didn't have the heart to kill Gilbert anyway, but still. A shot to the leg would have been better than this.

Gilbert lunged and Francis dodged the blow, but he realized too late it was a feint and he only barely managed to keep Gilbert's punch from doing any real damage. With a grunt, Francis took it to his side instead of his gut.

"Ha," Gilbert said, but his bloody teeth from Francis's punch earlier ruined his grin.

"You always were about small victories," Francis told him, ignoring the pain as best he could.

"I seem to remember you retreating a lot more," Gilbert returned. "Think you're as awesome as me now?"

"I've had more practice since then," Francis said with a smile.

Gilbert laughed. "So have I." With startling speed, Gilbert tried to pin Francis's good arm. Francis blocked him just in time and twisted Gilbert's wrist. Gilbert grunted and pulled out of his grip. Too late, Francis realized that Gilbert had baited him into coming close enough for Gilbert to reach his gun. Gilbert launched himself to the floor grabbed it before Francis could stop him. He stood up and held it lazily in his hands. "Oh Gilbert, you're so awesome," he said in a bad imitation of Francis's voice.

Francis raised an eyebrow and tried to even his breathing. "How very like you to cheat."

Gilbert grinned. "Give me a call sometime, will you? And ask Feli to say hi to Ludwig for me."

Francis's eyes widened in alarm, but before he could ask why Gilbert would let Feliciano go, Gilbert struck him over the head with the butt of his gun and everything went black.

* * *

><p>"It's a trap," Arthur said flatly.<p>

Alfred stared at him. "What?"

"Feliciano was used to lure us here." Arthur was so angry he was trembling. "To lure _me _here. You know how _useful_ your government finds me, the kind of extremes they go to get me to work with them? Apparently they're not the only one."

"But–" Alfred's grip on his gun tightened and his expression went dark. "The Mafia," he hissed. "I should have known. I bet they want you too."

Feliciano came over to where they were standing out of sight of the camera, rubbing his wrists. He shook his head. "Lovi told me he backed out when he found out I was bait. You can trust him."

"Forgive me if I don't trust Mafia," Arthur snapped at him. This was awful. This was worse than awful. "Besides, the mission is compromised if you end up in his hands." He looked sharply at Alfred. "Right?"

Alfred nodded with a frown. Arthur didn't need to touch him to know that plans were racing through his mind right now. Very soon, he had to come to the same conclusion Arthur already had.

"Go," Arthur said to both of them. "Don't go back the way we came. There's a good chance they won't care about you enough to chase you. After all, with me they won't need you to learn about the FBI." He nearly spat the words. This was how it was, how it _always _was; he was just goods, something to be traded or stolen, and no one ever let him forget it.

Alfred and Feliciano both stared at him. "Arthur, I don't know what you're talking about," Alfred finally said. He pulled out his extra pistol and tossed it to Feliciano, who caught it easily. "We're all getting out of here together, trap or no. Feli and I have been in bad situations before, right?" Feliciano nodded with a smile. Alfred looked back at Arthur with a slight smile himself. "I don't know how many times I have to tell you this, Artie, but I'm here to protect you, and that's what I'm going to do."

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: <em>-evil laughter- I finally update, and it's a cliffhanger, once again! :D (Why do I do this omg.)

Sorry it's been a while. I figured a short update was better than no update, so don't kill me please? There are probably two chapters left, though the next chapter may be the last if there ends up being less left than I expect.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 8_

When Francis came to, it was to a blinding headache and a white ceiling he was completely unfamiliar with. In an instant, he was on his feet and alert. It took only a moment for him to remember this was a hallway under Gilbert's mansion, and that it was Gilbert who had knocked him out. There was no sign of Gilbert or anyone else. Francis's guns were still lying against the wall where he had left them, and he quickly put them back in his holsters, ignoring the pain in his head. He walked carefully through the hallway in the direction he had been going before Gilbert had interrupted him, and tried to reformulate a plan.

Gilbert had left him here, which meant he didn't think Francis was a threat. Gilbert had delayed him on purpose and had known that Francis was going to be here, which meant it was a trap. Francis very much wanted to find Arthur, but he had no idea how much time had elapsed or where Arthur was, so the best he could do was continue on his original path and try to keep the hallways clear for their escape.

If they could manage it.

* * *

><p>Alfred led Arthur and Feliciano along a back route that had seemed clear from the maps and his intel from Liz. Feliciano brought up the rear and was surprisingly calm about the whole thing. As he explained to Arthur before Arthur demanded complete silence, he had been held prisoner here for over a week at this point, and Gilbert's men had been nothing but nice to him – besides the tying him up part. After his initial shock, Arthur had gently healed the raw strips of skin on Feliciano's wrists and ankles from the restraints. Feliciano had thanked him profusely until Alfred had laughingly reminded him to be quiet.<p>

They heard the pounding steps of a group of guards up ahead, and Alfred flattened himself against the wall. Arthur and Feliciano immediately did the same. Arthur was still seething from the realization that Gilbert had managed to be one step ahead of all of them, even Alfred, even _himself_. Arthur had known that people could lie to him, but he had still thought that they wouldn't because it was so difficult. Gilbert's thoughts hadn't given him away at all.

They were at a place where two hallways crossed, and the guards seemed to be coming from the left-hand side of the hallway perpendicular to their own. Alfred peeked around the corner, gun at the ready, and there were shouts as the guards saw him. Alfred fired and the footsteps quickened to a run. There was answering fire and Alfred ducked back behind the corner. Feliciano brushed past Arthur and knelt at Alfred's feet. They set up a steady rain of fire at the guards, and the guards' approach slowed.

"Oy!" called a voice, and another group of armed people appeared in the opposite end of the hallway as the guards. Arthur's eyes narrowed. He could only see a few of them, but they included Lovino and Antonio. Lovino did not look pleased.

Alfred and Feliciano ducked back behind the corner, thankful for the distraction, but the guards clearly thought the Mafia was on their side and stopped firing altogether. Then the real gunfight started.

Alfred and Feliciano joined in as best they could, and the Mafia was able to advance enough to duck into the same hallway they occupied. "Get out of here," Lovino yelled to Alfred over the gunfire. "If you let any of those bastards touch Feli–"

"Yeah, I got it," Alfred said tiredly. "Cover us, alright?"

"Lovi–" started Feliciano.

"Write me a letter," Lovino snapped at his brother. "Kinda busy at the moment. You're okay, right?" Feliciano brightened and nodded.

Arthur pressed a hand to Alfred's arm and picked up on the plan. Alfred looked back at him and Feliciano. "Ready?" They both nodded. Lovino and his men stepped fully into the open. Antonio immediately stood in front of his Don to protect him from harm. His face was serious as he fired shot after shot. There was just enough space and time for Arthur, Alfred, and Feliciano to duck behind them and make a run for the other end of the hallway.

As the sound of gunshots faded, they turned a corner and found Francis running straight toward them. Feliciano automatically skidded to a halt, but Alfred grinned and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. "Francis!"

"Hello," Francis said tiredly as they all came to a stop. "I heard gunshots." He looked at Arthur. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Arthur replied quietly, silently indicating with his eyes that they needed to talk later, too.

"Yeah," said Alfred. "It seems like Gilbert's sending reinforcements, but that Mafia kid is on our side now."

"Lovino. Of course." Francis looked over Feliciano suspiciously, and then with a frown. "You are his brother?" Feliciano nodded. "Does the name Ludwig mean anything to you?"

Feliciano brightened and said, "Yes!"

Alfred frowned slightly and exchanged a glance with Feliciano. "Ludwig's an agent. He works with us. He's usually Feli's partner."

"Gilbert said to tell him hello."

Feliciano nodded seriously. "I will."

"Why? How does Gilbert know who Ludwig is?"

"They're brothers," Feliciano explained as the group continued on their way. "You're not supposed to know. Ludwig wouldn't be able to work on cases like these if the boss thought he might choose Gilbert over us."

"Huh," said Alfred, and led them down another hallway.

The only real indication they had that they were making their way up to the surface was the sloping floors. The white halls with their glaring lights were disorienting, and as Arthur could tell from when he bumped against Alfred, Alfred wasn't really sure where they were anymore. That made Arthur frown, and he placed a hand on Francis's arm. Francis glanced at him but didn't say anything. He seemed to have a somewhat better idea of where they were than Alfred, but he had no idea of where there might be guards or where the exit itself was. Feliciano, of course, assumed that at least one of them knew where they were going.

"Bloody hell," Arthur muttered, and grabbed both Alfred and Francis by the hand.

"What are you doing?" Alfred asked.

"I'm not left handed, _cheri_," groused Francis, who was forced to transfer his gun to his other hand.

"I'm getting us out of here, since neither of you want to admit that you're lost," he informed them. According to Francis, they were still a good level or two below the surface. According to Alfred, there was a group of guards stationed just up ahead – probably the same group they had run into, but there were likely to be a least a few left behind in case they came this way. Arthur let go of Francis and Alfred's hands and pulled out his handgun. They could do what he liked, but he was leading the group from now on.

"We'll turn left up ahead," he said quietly, and tried to listen for any sound other than that of their footsteps. Francis and Alfred, predictably, kept pace with him on either side, while Feliciano happily continued to bring up the rear. If they could just find the set of stairs that Alfred's contact had been sure was a shortcut . . .

Abruptly, there was a door in front of them that said "Stairs." Alfred and Francis exchanged an impressed look over Arthur's head while Arthur frowned and tried to figure out how likely it was that they would get ambushed here. There was likely to be a security camera on the stairs, but really, they'd probably been caught on video countless times already . . .

Alfred shouldered past Arthur and led the way up the stairs. Arthur went next, then Francis, and finally Feliciano. It was Feliciano who noticed they were being followed. "Behind us!" he called, and several gunshots rang out. The rest of them automatically ducked, and bullets ricocheted off the metal railing. When Arthur got a good look at the situation and saw that Feliciano was firing at only one guard, he stood up. Alfred and Francis both swore and immediately dragged him back down. "Stop!" Arthur yelled. "Don't hurt him!"

Feliciano took this information in without question and managed to disarm the guard before he even knew what was happening. "Get out of my way, frog," Arthur muttered at Francis, and took the stairs two at a time. The guard was breathing hard and looking at them wide-eyed, his hands above his head as Feliciano kept his gun aimed between the man's eyes. Arthur put a hand on the man's shoulder and glared at him. "How many guards are there?"

"Uh–" He didn't really know. He was new, just hired a week ago, and he just did his job, don't kill me please–

"Nearest exit," Arthur demanded.

"Ask him if all the doors are guarded," Alfred said at the same time. The man's eyes flickered between them, confused, but Arthur could read all the answers easily.

"Can we escape?" Francis asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

_Yes, if you can get through the guards. We don't have much of a security system–_

"What do they want with me?" Arthur asked quietly. The man didn't know what he was talking about at first – he had just been told that there were intruders – but then his eyes widened in recognition.

_We're supposed to take you alive. I think the Boss said something about using you to interrogate his enemies, make sure his contacts aren't lying, make sure that we aren't going to betray him . . . _"We've been ordered not to hurt you," he said nervously, his mouth only just catching up to his brain.

Nothing Arthur hadn't already guessed. "Go stand in front of the door," Arthur ordered, and the man confusedly obeyed. Arthur grabbed the tranquilizer gun from Francis's holster and shot him in the neck. The man slumped to the ground in front of the door, effectively blocking it – at least temporarily. "Let's go," Arthur said calmly. He knew everyone was staring at him, but he tried to ignore them as he brushed past them and started back up the stairs.

"Hey," said Alfred, and he snagged Arthur by the waist as Arthur went past.

"Let me go," Arthur snapped, and tried to break out of his grip. Alfred just pulled him into an awkward hug, and Arthur felt enough warmth and concern wash over him that he stopped struggling.

"We've got some time, right?" Alfred said in his ear. "Just relax for a sec. You don't have to act all pulled together, we're freaking out too."

Arthur suddenly realized that he was shaking. He relaxed into Alfred's arm just for a minute and really felt how Alfred felt about this whole situation. _Feli and I have been trained for this stuff, but we're scared out of our minds too, _Alfred told him. _I'm worried I'm going to let you down. We're all doing our best, so just trust us too, okay? _

"Alright," Arthur said, and gently disentangled himself from Alfred's arms. Alfred beamed at him, and though Arthur didn't have the strength to smile back, he felt a little better. "We should get going. The exit is closer than we thought."

Alfred nodded, and he started back up the stairs in the lead.

There were guards on the outside of the door to the stairs at the top, waiting for them, but Alfred and Francis took care of them without much injury. Francis got a gash on his arm, which Arthur quickly patched up so it wouldn't bleed. They headed down another hallway. This one came to an end at a steel-plated door. They all stopped and looked at it.

"Is that . . . ?" asked Francis.

"Yeah," said Arthur. "The entrance to the main house."

Alfred whistled. "Talk about a least desirable exit strategy."

Francis nodded to some blood on the wall. "Antonio and Lovino must have been by here and cleaned out the guards already." He turned to Arthur. "Do you know the combination?"

"No, but I do," Alfred answered for him. He stepped forward and looked at the keypad. "Elizabeta gave me the combinations for all the main entrances and exits." He looked at the group. "Okay, we're really going into enemy territory here. You guys ready for this?" They all nodded. Alfred punched in the combination, pulled open the door, and stepped into Gilbert's mansion.

* * *

><p>Roderich Edelstein was the vice president (so to speak) of Gilbert's Awesome Crime Syndicate (so to speak), and he had been in the position for quite a while. It was not a position he was particularly fond of, but it worked out well enough for all those concerned. He had been the one to find out about Arthur's existence after some contacts of his had hacked into some secret government databases. However, he had left the rest up to Gilbert. He was beginning to regret it.<p>

"I understand that they're moving fast, but they cannot escape," he snapped at one of Gilbert's hired men through his headpiece. "They aren't going to double back to where you are, because _they're not idiots._"

A red light started flashing on one of the monitors in front of Roderich. The video feed next to that red light showed a group of four men entering the mansion from the lower level. Roderich swore and frantically switched his headset to broadcast to the group of guards in the mansion – oh that's right,_ there weren't any. _

"Attention all units," he said. "They are inside the mansion. Set up a perimeter immediately."

"We're not in the army," muttered one of the guards lucky enough to be receiving direct orders.

"I wish you were," Roderich snapped back.

"Roddy? What's the matter?"

Roderich turned in his seat to see Elizabeta, head of the main tactical team, standing in the doorway. Roderich sighed. "They broke into the mansion and no one seems able to follow orders."

"Ah." Elizabeta took on her I-will-happily-beat-them-up-until-they-behave face, and Roderich cringed. "Would you like me to go talk some sense into them?"

"Just round up the guards and lead a team in the right direction, please."

"On it." She turned and disappeared out the door. The sounds of Roderich yelling at the guards to _move faster, dammit! _echoed down the hall after her.

* * *

><p>Because Gilbert was pretentious and way too worried about break-ins, the door to the mansion did not open into the ground floor, but instead into some sort of basement level. Considering that they had just gone through at least two of these already, the group was not thrilled to discover this. They were even less thrilled when a group of guards finally caught up with them.<p>

Francis and Arthur darted behind a half wall, while Alfred and Feliciano used a couch as cover. Thankfully, the guards had come from the interior of the house, leaving the door out of the room open at the group's back. However, as long as the guards kept up their steady rain of fire, there wasn't any way they were getting out of there. It didn't take long for it to become evident that it was only a matter of time before sheer numbers would eventually force them to give way. "What do you think about being a distraction?" Alfred asked Feliciano as he fired several shots around the side of the couch.

"Fine with me," Feliciano said calmly. "We just need to cover the exit, right?"

Alfred nodded. "Cover me?"

Feliciano moved into position and Alfred quickly fired several shots. While the answering fire was focused on where he had been, he raced over to where Francis and Arthur were and slid behind the wall next to them.

"Don't be reckless!" Arthur told him with a scowl, but then Alfred touched his arm and he went very still.

_You and Francis need to get out of here, _Alfred told him. _Feli and I can handle this. _

Arthur stared at him. "No," he said quietly.

Alfred smiled, but Arthur knew that he wasn't happy about the situation either. _Francis will be a better bodyguard without us to interfere, anyway. Feli and I were trained for this kind of thing. _He removed his hand from Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur was able to think more clearly.

"I can take care of myself just fine," Arthur said, eyes blazing, but it was a weak excuse.

"I can keep them back."

Arthur was silent for a moment as he searched Alfred's eyes. Fire rained down around them, but they weren't paying attention. "I can't tell if you honestly aren't afraid, or if you're just a fool," Arthur said.

"You can find out," Alfred said, offering his hand.

Arthur looked at it for a moment, and then took it. He didn't need to touch Alfred's skin to know that the strongest feeling was _I want you to be safe, Arthur, _but he somehow hoped that he could transfer his own feelings through touch. "Come back to me," he said firmly, and then let it go. Alfred immediately turned and gestured at Feliciano to get ready, while Francis kept up a steady attack on the guards.

"If you guys head straight back and through that door, you should be mostly clear," Alfred told Arthur and Francis. "Run as fast as you can and don't look back. Don't go to the car straight away, because they might be waiting for you there. We'll meet up in the front yard four houses down from this one, alright? It should be dark enough you can wait there safely. If we're not there in twenty minutes, leave without us."

"We will see you there," Francis said firmly, and moved closer to Arthur.

"Okay." Alfred caught Feliciano's eye and nodded. "Go."

Alfred and Feliciano both popped out from behind their hiding places long enough to get in a clean shot each and draw fire before ducking back behind their cover. Arthur and Francis ran for it, and when they got through the door, they didn't stop running.

_Well, I always wanted to be on a high risk mission, _Alfred thought, and it felt lonely without anyone there to hear him. _Lucky me. _

* * *

><p><em>Author's note:<em> Sorry about the wait! The next chapter will be up soon.


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter 9_

Arthur and Francis ran straight to the stairs that went up to the ground floor, and Francis downed the guards at the top with one shot each. It barely even slowed them down. They ran down the hall to the next room they found, and they paused for a moment behind a bookshelf to take stock of the situation. Francis touched Arthur's shoulder: _All clear_. They knew this part of the house very well, since Arthur had actually been here before and the maps were accurate. They walked right out the front door, and Francis tranquilized both the guards that were waiting outside.

They made their way to the meeting place at a lazy jog. Francis was careful to keep pace with Arthur. They were both alert, and Francis didn't take either of his hands off his semi-automatic pistol. At this point, they were unlikely to be shooting at anyone at a close enough range for the tranquilizer gun to be effective, and their own lives took priority over those of anyone who attacked them.

They found a good hiding place in the ink black shadow of an arch in the driveway of the mansion fourth from Gilbert's, just as they had agreed. They could see their car from where they were, and no one approached it or departed from it.

The night was absolutely silent, and they couldn't even hear the sound of gunfire.

* * *

><p>Inside the mansion, Alfred and Feliciano were forced into a slow retreat. With their escape route at their backs, this wasn't really a problem, but Alfred was getting worried that someone was going to come at them from behind and completely cut them off. Making a run for it was looking less and less plausible as more shooters joined the group they were already fending off. Alfred glanced over at Feliciano and saw that he was far from his normal, bubbly self; he looked exhausted. A bullet had grazed Alfred's right arm and he was favoring it. Even if they could maintain this position, they were going to run out of time.<p>

When Alfred heard the pounding of feet behind them, his stomach sank and he tasted bile in his mouth. He made eye contact with Feliciano and quickly indicated that he would handle it. Feliciano gave him a sharp nod and turned back to his task. Alfred reloaded his gun and turned around to face the door, all in one smooth movement. Whoever was coming up behind them stopped and had likely taken up their positions, but they had yet to start firing and were still out of sight.

"Men, regroup!" shouted a female voice from in front of them. The shooting stopped. Feliciano looked at Alfred in astonishment. Alfred returned his gaze grimly. That wasn't necessarily a good thing.

"The Mafia are breaking through downstairs. All of you, go help them. The team up front will handle this."

There was a sharp, "Yessir," and a rustling and the sound of fading, running footsteps as the group that had just been firing at them moved out. Feliciano remained facing that direction, barely breathing, as he and Alfred waited for someone to make a move.

They heard the click of heels on wood, and Feliciano got ready to shoot, but Alfred held out a hand. It was a gamble, but . . .

A moment later, Elizabeta's legs appeared in their view, and then the rest of her. She stopped in front of them and glared. "How the hell did you guys let yourselves get stuck here?"

Alfred grinned at her, but he still hadn't relaxed his grip on his gun. "We did our best, Liz. Are those men back there going to take us out?"

"Boys," called Elizabeta, and Alfred and Feliciano tensed. The first man to step out was no one Alfred recognized, but Feliciano immediately relaxed. He chirped something in Italian, and the man responded with an affirmative nod.

"They're with Lovi," Feliciano told Alfred cheerfully. "He's okay!"

Alfred laughed and wiped the sweat from his forehead tiredly. "This is one hell of a messed up mission, huh Liz?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "No thanks to you. They'll cover you until you're out of here, so you should make it quick."

"You're coming with us, right?" Alfred asked her. "We've got the room, and at this point, I don't think the boss will blame you for leaving a little early. You'll be screwed if you're found out."

Elizabeta gave him a slightly sad smile. "No, I'll stay. I have someone of my own I want to extract from here."

"Are you sure?"

"I am."

Alfred turned to Feliciano, and he nodded at the unspoken question. "Right. We're ready. See you around, Liz."

"Sure thing," she said, and strode back the way she had come with the sharp click of her heels on the wood floor. Feliciano told the Mafia member something else in Italian, and then they were off.

They weren't expecting the car of Gilbert's reinforcements just pulling up out front.

* * *

><p>After ten minutes, Arthur was getting worried. After fifteen, he was absolutely terrified. At the sound of gunfire, his face went white.<p>

Francis grabbed his arm. "Remember what they told us," he hissed in Arthur's ear. _Don't be stupid, he's fine. He'll come if we wait. _

"The situation has changed–" Arthur snapped back, but then they heard the sound of someone approaching. Arthur stopped talking abruptly, and Francis's hands went back to his pistol. 

Feliciano jogged into view, looking worn out and breathing hard, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. He came to a stop in front of them and bent down, trying to catch his breath. Arthur relaxed, but only slightly. "Where's Alfred?"

Feliciano waved a hand. "He'll catch up soon. He was just" – he gulped in a breath of air – "finishing up."

"Did he say to meet him at the car?" Francis asked.

Feliciano shook his head. "Complication. That's what he's taking care of."

Arthur and Francis both strained their eyes to try to see what was going on, but most of the gunfire had stopped. Normally, Arthur would have assumed that someone would have called the police, but in this quiet neighborhood, he wasn't so sure. Not a single light had gone on, and Arthur didn't want to know if that was because this was normal, Gilbert had bought them all out, or if Gilbert actually owned all the houses.

Arthur turned back to Feliciano and glared at him. "Why didn't you stay and help him?"

Feliciano looked at him with wide, worried eyes. "He told me to come help protect you."

"Then go back and make sure he's safe!"

"Arthur," Francis said in a harsh whisper, and he grabbed Arthur's arm again. "Keep your voice down."

Arthur tore out of his grip and glared at him. "If you two won't help him, I will," he snapped.

A single shot rang out.

* * *

><p>When Alfred and Feliciano met the reinforcements on the doorstep of Gilbert's mansion, it was a surprise for everyone involved. Alfred reacted a fraction before anyone else did. He raised his gun to fire. The man in front of him knocked it out of his hands, so Alfred punched him in the face.<p>

The only good thing about the uneven numbers was that there were so many more of Gilbert's men than there were of Alfred and Feliciano, none of them dared fire after the first few warning shots for fear of hitting one of their own people. When Alfred saw that Feliciano was only barely managing to dodge punches and looking like he was going to fall on his feet, Alfred shouted, "Just get to Arthur. I'll be right there." The next time he got a chance to look, Feliciano was gone.

Hand-to-hand combat was one of those skills that Alfred had been disappointed to learn wasn't _really _required to be an FBI agent. If there had been a class, he was sure he would have gotten an A in it, just because he could knock a man out with one punch.

It took a while, but the reinforcements didn't really stand a chance.

The Mafia realized what was going on and took care of the last few that Alfred hadn't had a chance to deal with yet. Alfred gave them a nod of thanks and set off at a jog for the meeting place. He hoped Arthur hadn't gotten worried; it had surely been twenty minutes by now.

His lip stung and his nose was definitely broken. He pressed a hand to his nose as he ran to stem the blood flow and tried to breathe through his mouth. Despite the scrape on his arm and what was probably rapidly become a black eye, he had escaped without any serious wounds. He glanced behind him and swore; someone had finally figured out that they had escaped, and there were a few men coming after him. He ran faster. One of them shot at him, but he ducked and the bullet missed.

It took Alfred a moment to find the group, because they were hiding behind some bushes and an archway that was part of the mansion whose yard they were hiding in. When he finally saw Arthur, he grinned. Arthur smiled back weakly, and that was when Alfred noticed that his side was wet with blood.

"I'd heal you up a bit," Arthur said as Alfred came to a stop in front of him, "but I'm afraid I have other things to concentrate on at the moment." He coughed weakly. He was leaning against Francis while Feliciano looked on with wide eyes. The blood was leaking through his fingers where they were pressed against his side, and his healing ability clearly wasn't doing much except to perhaps slow the bleeding. He leaned too heavily into Francis, and Francis helped him lie down.

"Oh Arthur, oh Arthur," Alfred heard himself saying as he knelt down beside him. His hands hovered over the wound, not knowing what to do. "You got shot. Jesus Christ." There was more gunfire as some of the men caught up with them. Feliciano crouched down and returned it. Francis was reloading his gun with hands that were dark with blood. Alfred did not want to realize that it was probably Arthur's.

"How many are following you?" Francis demanded as the clip clicked into place.

Alfred looked up at him. His heart was pounding in his chest. "I don't know. I don't know. What do we do?"

"Oh, stop being so melodramatic," Arthur said weakly from the ground. "Get me out of here, will you? Give me some peace and quiet and I'll be fine."

Alfred looked down at Arthur. He looked into those beautiful green eyes and something clicked inside of him. The panic disappeared from his face to be replaced by cold certainty. "We have to get you to a hospital."

"What? Nonsense," Arthur said. He closed his eyes briefly. "We agreed, no hospitals. Likely to be detected . . ."

Alfred was having none of it. He picked Arthur up bridal-style, cradling him against his chest. In seconds, the blood soaked Alfred's jacket. "Francis, cover me. We're going to the car."

Francis cocked his pistol. "My pleasure." For a split second, Alfred and Francis locked eyes. The moment they broke eye contact, Alfred started running. Francis and Feliciano were close behind him. The gunfire was a little delayed – apparently their sudden appearance in the open was unexpected – but it came. In a matter of second, Francis was yanking open the back door and Alfred nearly dove inside. Francis and Feliciano followed, and Francis yanked the door closed behind them. Alfred lay Arthur down as gently as he could manage in the circumstances and then climbed into the front seat while bullets pounded into the sides of the bullet-resistant car. He shoved the key into the ignition and hit the gas.

Alfred could see nothing but the road, but he could hear Francis and Arthur in the back seat. There was a ripping noise, and a moment later Francis was saying, "Lift up your arm. I've got to tie this. Feliciano, can you hold this?"

Arthur breathed out sharply and everything was quiet for a few minutes, except for a few last bullets hitting the back windshield. Francis must have been touching Arthur enough for him to read his thoughts, for after a moment Arthur said, "I didn't know you cared."

"Of course I do, _rosbif,_" Francis said softly.

"Do you really think he's the one for me?" Arthur asked, clearly in response to something Alfred was not privy to.

"You know I do," Francis replied. It was the last they spoke for a long time.

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: <em>The next chapter is the last.


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter 10 _

It was early in the morning and only the emergency room was open. Arthur was quickly moved onto a gurney and wheeled away, and Alfred, Francis, and Feliciano were left to wait. Alfred was pale, and he was given some tissues to keep his nose from bleeding any more. As soon as it was clear that Arthur was not going to be wheeled back out any time soon, he disappeared outside to make a phone call. When he came back inside, he sat down stiffly next to Francis and Feliciano and stared grimly ahead.

They were eventually told that Arthur had stabilized (amazingly quickly, the nurse added) and that he was fine, but that they wouldn't be able to see him until visiting hours the next day. They were told to go home and get some rest.

A black car with a government license plate picked them up outside the hospital and drove them to a hotel. Alfred was silent, but according to the driver, Alfred's phone call had sent a squadron of FBI agents to Gilbert's mansion. Gilbert, his top men (including Elizabeta), and the Mafia were already gone, but a lot of personnel and information had been left behind. It was unlikely that anyone would try to track Arthur, Alfred and company down now, but it was better to be safe than sorry. A guard had been put on Arthur on the hospital, and he would remain under guard for as long as was necessary.

At this last piece of information, Francis glanced at Alfred. Alfred was staring moodily out the window. Whether the guard was only the keep Arthur safe from harm was doubtful; the FBI had gone through far too much trouble to secure him to let him escape from their control now.

At least Arthur was safe.

* * *

><p>Alfred and Francis left early the next morning to get Alfred's broken nose tended to. Feliciano was exhausted, and he had had enough of white buildings to last him for a lifetime, he explained; he would stay at the hotel and rest before his debriefing that afternoon. So after Alfred's nose had been set and taped in place, Alfred and Francis went to visit Arthur.<p>

Arthur was sleeping. He was pale and there were bags under his eyes. As they watched, he frowned slightly in his sleep. Otherwise, there was no sign that he had been injured; the sheets covered him neatly up to his chest. Still, he was very different than the grumpy, energetic Arthur that Alfred was used to.

Alfred hesitated by his bedside, unsure what to do. He had gone a little pale himself. "He doesn't look so good."

"It might help if you held his hand," Francis suggested gently. "If you think of something calming, it will relax him."

Alfred looked at Francis with a slight frown. "Even though he's asleep?"

"Yes. It's something to keep in mind if you have nightmares."

Alfred blinked. "Oh. So, are you really . . . okay with this?"

Francis smiled. "Alfred, I encouraged it. Arthur and I are long, long over. It is high time he had someone like you in his life."

Alfred stared at him, trying to think of what to say. "Thank you," he said finally, and his sincerity was clear. He tentatively sat down by Arthur's side and slipped his hand in Arthur's.

It was hard to think of something happy when Arthur looked so fragile and unhappy. He thought about the first time he'd met Arthur, when he had still thought that Arthur was a grumpy, untrustworthy person. Then he remembered looking deep into Arthur's eyes and trusting him, just a little bit – and another time, when Arthur had been so focused on healing him, and Alfred hadn't minded in the least. _Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are. _Dancing with Arthur, the way his hand felt on Arthur's the waist, the way Arthur looked at him in amusement. _Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky –_

"Dear God," Arthur groaned. "What a horrible way to wake someone up."

"Arthur!" exclaimed Alfred, and Arthur opened his eyes.

* * *

><p>Arthur had been dreaming very happily about the first time he had met Alfred when <em>someone <em>had started singing very loudly in his mind. He glared at Alfred and tried to communicate how displeased he was, but it was very difficult when Alfred was leaning over him, relief and joy in his blue eyes, and talking excitedly.

"How are you feeling? Are your healing abilities back?"

"I feel okay," Arthur said distractedly. Why was there a plaster over Alfred's nose? Had he broken it? "How are you feeling?" Arthur asked, and he closed his eyes to do a diagnostic check on Alfred.

"Oh, I'm fine," said Alfred. "Sorry about waking you up. I didn't mean to do that."

Breathing and heartbeat, normal though elevated. Nose – definitely broken, but would heal nicely. Some pain in one hand – a burn, probably from gripping the wrong end of his handgun for some reason. He had some bruises, which was weird unless he'd gotten in a fistfight, but no matter. Soreness in his legs from running, normal –

_It's so good to see you. _

Arthur opened his eyes to see Alfred looking intently at him. The amount of relief that came from that statement washed over Arthur and drowned out his other thoughts. Arthur frowned. Why was Alfred so relieved? And then Arthur realized that his hands were shaking slightly and he was feeling the exact same thing because Alfred had come back in one piece. _Oh, _he thought, and was very grateful when Francis started talking.

"As you can see, I brought him back in one piece," Francis was saying dryly.

"Yes, thank you," Arthur replied in an identical tone. He sat up and eyed the water glass on his bedside table. Before he could ask, Alfred picked it up and handed to him. Once Arthur had drank a little water and handed the glass back to Alfred, he reached out and pressed a finger gently to Alfred's nose. Yes, definitely broken. "You're very careless, you know that? How did you break your nose in a gun fight?"

Alfred grinned and squeezed Arthur's hand: _That's the Artie I know_. "It wasn't a gun fight."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Really, now?" he said, even though he could see clearly what had happened in Alfred's mind. "And what did take you so long?"

Alfred's smile disappeared. "Some guys came out of nowhere. It wouldn't have taken so long if I didn't have to take them down by hand."

Arthur removed his finger from Alfred's nose and placed it under his chin instead. He pushed it up and frowned at the bruises and scratches he saw there. "How many men were there?"

"Ten, I think. It was a little hard to count."

Francis snorted. "You're joking."

Alfred set his jaw in a childlike way. "No, I'm not. There were at least seven."

Francis crossed his arms and smiled. "_Mon ami, _I am sure that if they had wanted to kill you, they would have done so."

"Mm-hmm," Arthur agreed, but a smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "I'm telling you, I think I know what happened."

"Shock," Arthur stated.

"Over-sized ego," Francis offered.

Alfred opened his mouth to protest, and Arthur laughed. He patted their joined hands with his free one. "I'm just teasing, love. I believe you."

"You guys are awful," Alfred pouted.

"Oh, we're not that bad," Arthur said, not looking away from Alfred's eyes. "Francis, if you wouldn't mind . . . ?"

"No need for an excuse," Francis said, already walking out of the room with a wave of his hand. "If I wanted to see the way you two look at each other, I'd watch a soap opera."

"Like you can talk!" Arthur shouted after him. Alfred's ears turned red. Arthur turned back to Alfred and smiled softly. His hand was still covering Alfred's. "Now, love, where were we?"

Alfred smiled and leaned in. He pressed their foreheads together, and Arthur raised an eyebrow. _So impatient, _Alfred thought, and Arthur huffed out a laugh; as if _he _was the impatient one. Alfred kissed him, then, and the frames of his glasses dug into Arthur's nose, but that was alright. They pulled apart just slightly, and their noses rubbed together. They were both smiling.

"Your breath smells awful," Alfred told him, and just for that, Arthur pulled him closer and kissed him again. And again, and again, until a nurse nearly walked in on them. "You should go," Arthur told Alfred, though he didn't let go of his hand. "I'll see you later."

"Right," said Alfred, and he didn't show any sign of leaving. They stared at each other for a long moment. "Well, bye."

"Bye." The nurse left. Alfred darted in, pecked Arthur on the lips, and left grinning. Arthur smiled to himself.

"Oh, hey," Alfred said to the guard outside Arthur's room, and Arthur's smile disappeared from his face. He lay back on his pillows and looked blankly at the ceiling. Still a prisoner in this country, then. Now it was just a little more literal.

* * *

><p>Alfred got a call that afternoon telling him that Arthur was going to be discharged. Alfred asked Francis if he wanted to come with him to pick Arthur up, but Francis shrugged, smiled, and said he didn't think he was needed.<p>

It was a relief to see Arthur on his feet. Alfred grinned when he saw Arthur, and Arthur smiled back, but it was obvious that he was still in pain. His steps were slow and measured. Alfred offered his arm for support and Arthur gladly took it. Alfred was tempted to just pick him up and carry him out of there, but at the thought Arthur gave him a disapproving look. Arthur was still worn out, so they talked little during the drive home.

When Alfred helped Arthur into the house, Francis appeared from the back of the house, where he had apparently been cleaning. "Oh, good," he said when he saw them. "Now that you're home, _rosbif, _you can help with the packing. I expect you out in a week."

"What?" demanded Arthur, and he was immediately back to his old self. "You think I'm going to let you have the house? You're the one who's always complaining about the wallpaper!"

"We are both leaving," Francis clarified. "But I want my half when we sell this place, and if you don't move out soon you'll never leave. We can't sell it if you're still living here."

"You _idiot,_" said Arthur. "We don't bloody well own it!"

"Details, details," said Francis with a smirk, and he disappeared back into the bedroom.

"Uhhh," said Alfred worriedly.

Arthur looked up at Alfred with a coy smile. "Do you know of anywhere I can stay?"

* * *

><p>A week later, Arthur was completely healed. He had only a small scar to show that he had ever been injured, and his healing abilities had come back more each day, so Alfred's nose was as good as new. Traveling to Washington, D.C. hadn't been any trouble. When they straightened their ties in the hotel that morning, they both thought that they made quite the pair. "Ready?" asked Alfred.<p>

Arthur took a deep breath. All he had for protection were Alfred and a letter tucked in his pocket – but they were enough. "Yes," he said.

They were quiet on the ride to the FBI headquarters. They hadn't talked very much about what was going to happen. There were two options, as Arthur saw it: Arthur would have to leave the country, or he would have to work for the government. He wasn't sure which was worse.

When they got inside, a fair number of people seemed to recognize Alfred and said hello. They just looked at Arthur curiously; that was good, at least. Arthur didn't like being recognized. When they got to a quieter hall, Alfred brushed against Arthur's arm as if by accident. "Are you alright?" he asked aloud.

"Yes," said Arthur. He looked at Alfred out of the corner of his eye. He was wearing his glasses. "Still in disguise, I see."

Alfred blinked at him. "What?"

Arthur tapped his own temple. He was trying not to smile. "I thought you said your glasses were part of your disguise."

"Ohhhh. Right." Alfred took off his glasses and tucked them in his pocket. He grinned at Arthur. "I forgot."

Arthur looked away and rolled his eyes. Alfred was a dork.

"Hey, this is the meeting room," Alfred said, and he veered to the right.

"Alfred, I believe that is the door to the toilet."

"Really? I mean, yeah, that's where I'm going."

"The _ladies' _toilet."

Alfred paused. He stepped back from the door, cleared his throat awkwardly, and put his glasses back on. "Maybe I'll stay in disguise for a bit longer."

"You do that," Arthur said, smiling. They looked at each other. Alfred started laughing first. He pushed open the door to the meeting room, and they both walked in, chuckling.

"Agent Jones."

They stopped laughing. Alfred cleared his throat clasped his hands behind his back. "Sir," he said to the man sitting at the head of the conference table. He was the only other person in the room.

"And Agent Kirkland, I presume?"

"Just Arthur, please," Arthur said tightly.

"Have a seat." Arthur and Alfred exchanged a glance. Arthur sat on one side of the table and Alfred sat down across from him.

The head of the FBI folded his hands in front of him and looked at Arthur. "I hear you were very helpful in recovering one of our agents. We are very grateful."

Arthur raised his chin and met his eyes evenly. "It was no trouble," he said politely. Understatement of the century.

"I am sorry to hear you were injured. It was good to hear you recovered fully."

"Thank you."

The man smiled slightly. "I imagine you want to get down to business, so I won't waste any more time." He slid a sheet of paper over to Arthur. "We are willing to offer you a job as an interrogator. Here is the starting salary–"

"No thank you," Arthur said abruptly. "I apologize for interrupting, but I am not interested."

He chuckled. "Yeah, thought so. Field work?"

"You did save my life," Alfred pointed out. "And Feliciano's."

"No," said Arthur firmly.

"Even if it's the best we can offer you?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it and slid it across the table. "With all due respect, sir, it's not."

Before the head of the FBI picked up the document, he paused. "If you agree to work for us on our terms, we can get you back home," he said. "To England."

A brief expression of sorrow crossed Arthur's face. He clasped his hands tightly in his lap. "No," he said quietly. "I will always miss England, but this is my home now."

The man searched his eyes for a moment, and then he nodded. He picked up the document and scanned it. He looked at Arthur of the top of it. "These are some hefty terms."

Alfred was nearly squirming in his seat with impatience – Arthur had never mentioned this to him – but Arthur did his best to ignore him. This agreement was between him and the government. "I believe I deserve them."

He looked back at the document. "Make you a dual American-British citizen, never call you into field work again, never ask you to interrogate anyone who has been submitted to any other type of questioning . . . and all so that you can work with our medical, counseling, or recruitment services." He set down the document. "Arthur, you would be invaluable as a member of our interrogation team. What makes you think we will agree to this?"

"Because," Arthur said with a slight smile, "I can read your mind."

* * *

><p>"It's a little frightening," Alfred said conversationally as they walked out of the FBI building.<p>

"What is?" asked Arthur.

He scratched his head. "You're probably one of the most wanted people on the planet, they completely thought they had you under your thumb, and then it turns out that all you want is to help people. If you'd left the country, they would have hunted you down, but if you're an employee, they have to keep your best interests in mind." He shook his head and smiled at Arthur. "Congrats; you just managed to keep one step ahead of the American government."

"I told you it wouldn't be too hard," Arthur said with a smug smile.

Alfred held out his hand. "Lunch?"

Arthur took it with a sigh of contentment. "Yes _please_."

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: <em>The end! :)


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